Daybreak in Valinor
by Erwen Brogiel
Summary: Everyone's favourite Noldorin psycho finds out that he is a character in a story, escapes from Mandos and sets out to rebel against the author.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The author sat on her bed, staring into the screen of her laptop. She opened a new document, not sure whether she was going to start writing that homework she needed to get done or a new fanfic. For a moment, she hesitated... and then she quickly typed:

_DISCLAIMER: If these characters belonged to me, Maedhros would currently be naked and tied up in my bed. He is not. Draw your own conclusions._

She realized that the disclaimer was absolutely pointless, having read about this on TV Tropes, but she rather liked the way she had phrased it and decided to keep it for now. She could always delete it later.

It would probably be a good idea to establish what version of the canon she was going with, too. After a moment's thought, she wrote:

_Amras was burned with the ships. Gil-galad is the son of Orodreth who was the son of Angrod; Fingon never married. Celeborn is a Sinda. Maglor, Caranthir and Curufin are married; their wives stayed in Valinor. Argon existed, but the daughters of Finwë did not. _

She had always thought that if the daughters of Finwë had existed, they would have made some kind of impact on the world. It was hard to imagine that they just floated around, given the way the other female descendants of Finwë had behaved. Then there was the questions of Balrog wings and Celegorm's hair colour... well, she could get around those by simply avoiding mentioning them.

_The Fëanorians take advantage of Námo's only known weakness and escape from Mandos._

She stared at the sentence she had written. There were plenty of stories about Fëanor escaping from Mandos (although most of them seemed to be sadly unfinished) but she had not come across one that used what she felt to be Námo's obvious weakness. It had always puzzled her.

The sentence she had written stared back at her. "And then what?" it seemed to ask. She could not write an entire story about their escape. There needed to be some kind of plot arc. She tried to come up with things that could happen and wrote:

_They meet Daeron. Fëanor finally gets to kill a Balrog. Curufin and Celegorm argue with Eöl. EPIC FIGHT between the descendants of Indis and Míriel._

She realized that this was what How To Write Badly Well would call a plot ark; all the coolest and most amazing stuff the writer could think of, stuffed into a story without any real reason for it to happen. She decided that she didn't care. With all these awesome scenes, how could her story not be great?

There was a distinct possibility that this would end up like that Bestest Cake Ever her sister and she made when they were younger. She dismissed the thought. Anyway, the cake had been pretty okay once you cut away the bottom where the unboiled rice grains had ended up. She was sure those had been her sister's idea.

She hesitated, her fingers hovering above the keyboard. Perhaps...? She had never written a self-insert, even though she had badly wanted to. She knew that it was generally despised. But this story was a crackfic and already mostly wish fulfillment. Perhaps there was a place for her in it?

_In Mandos, they meet Erwen..._

She really should have started on that homework instead.


	2. Time Stands Still

**Chapter 1: Time Stands Still**

_In which the author struggles to describe soul-to-soul communication, Fëanor and his sons meet a new character and an oliphaunt gives birth._

* * *

><p>The Halls of Mandos were endless and endlessly boring. Especially so for the spirit of Fëanor, who at the moment hovered in a hall covered in tapestries which depicted the rather boring life of a horse named Blackie. The same was true to a somewhat lesser extent for the spirits of six of his sons, who were gathered around him.<p>

"What are we going to do?" said Celegorm.

"We could always go and look at the new tapestries," said Maedhros.

"That's true," said Amrod. "Ambarussa and I betted on which of those two oliphaunts in Harad would be the first to give birth. It's probably only minutes left."

"Minutes for them," muttered Amras, "not for us."

The problem was that Vairë recorded all the events of the world at the same time as they happened, but weaving a picture of a battle (or, for that matter, an oliphaunt giving birth) took so much longer than the actual battle. After some rather embarrassing incidents during the Spring of Arda, which caused Yavanna to stop talking to Vairë for centuries, a solution had been created: time slowed down around Vairë's loom, so that she could depict everything that happened without having to shout at the birds to stop flapping their wings so bloody fast. Since this made time slow down in the entire Halls of Mandos, those poor souls who ended up there were generally not happy with the arrangement. Most of them thought it would have been better to smash the loom and find another hobby for Vairë.

"You don't want to see an oliphaunt give birth anyway," said Caranthir. "I'm sure it will be awfully messy."

"We could always go and argue with Eöl again," said Curufin.

"Námo disapproves of it," said Maedhros.

"That settles it," said Celegorm, "I'm going to see Eöl."

Celegorm trailed off, followed by Curufin and Caranthir.

"I think I'll rather go and look at the oliphaunts," muttered Amras. His twin nodded, and they went away, leaving Fëanor with only his eldest son for company.

"You are quiet today, Father," said Maedhros.

"I have seen countless oliphaunts give birth," said Fëanor in a hollow voice - if 'voice' is the right word to describe communication between disembodied fëar. "During my time in these halls, I have studied the subject enough to be able to write a book about oliphaunt midwifery, simply because there is nothing better to do. I am bored, Nelyo."

"I think we are supposed to consider our past deeds," said Maedhros, without much conviction.

"I have done that, too."

"You said you were working on a new runic alphabet, since Tengwar are not suited for being carved into stone -"

"I have perfected it. But to what use? It will never be employed."

"Ah."

"Do you think any new fëar have arrived?"

"It has been very quiet lately."

"Excuse me," said a new voice. "Are you Fëanáro?"

Fëanor looked at the newcomer. (Although probably 'looked' is not the right word to use here, because since Fëanor no longer had a body, he obviously didn't have eyes. As for what he saw - or, rather, sensed, since he didn't have anything to see with - well, the fëa remembers the shape of the hröa it inhabited, but it is not an exact copy of it, because then it would _be_ the hröa, which it is not, obviously... I am sorry, I think I messed up this explanation. I should not have insulted your intelligence by thinking that I needed to explain that all uses of 'saw', 'said' etc. are approximate attempts at describing communication between disembodied fëar. Let me start over again.)

Fëanor looked at the newcomer. It was female, that much he could see, but he did not recognize the voice. She had spoken Noldorin Quenya, so she was probably not someone he'd killed, which was a relief. On the other hand, she could have died on the Grinding Ice or the in the war against Morgoth or the attack on Sirion - plenty of Noldor blamed him for their deaths even when he had not been directly involved. In any case, there was probably no point in trying to deny who he was. Being easily recognized was one of the disadvantages of having a spirit that burned brighter than any other. If she was going to lecture him for his past deeds, well, that would at least give him something to do - and considering his skill with words, she would quite probably end up apologizing for mistakenly critisizing him.

"Yes," he said. "I am Fëanáro. To whom am I speaking?"

"Oh, good," said the woman. "I was starting to think I would never find you, what with these halls being endless and all. I am Erwen."

"I do not recognize that name," said Fëanor. "Do I know you?"

"Probably not."

"Then why were you trying to find me?"

"Well," said Erwen, sounding nervous, "I was wondering, since you are going to be here until the end of time, and you don't seem busy at the moment..."

"Come to the point."

Erwen hesitated.

"Either I am mad or we are all characters in a story. I believe the last one is true. How can I convince you that I am right?"

* * *

><p>When Celegorm, Caranthir and Curufin returned, they found their father deep in conversation with an unknown woman. That was highly unusual. The souls in Mandos generally kept to themselves, and the only ones who had talked to Fëanor and his sons had not so much talked to them as screamed at them. It had not been pleasant.<p>

"We're back, Father," said Caranthir, since Fëanor did not seem inclined to acknowledge their presence.

"Yes, I can see that," said Fëanor.

"Aren't you going to introduce us to your new friend?" said Celegorm.

"Certainly, if you wish. Turko, Moryo, Curvo - this is Erwen, who has presented me with an interesting problem to solve. Erwen - my sons -"

"- who, being as famous as their father, need no introduction," said Erwen smoothly.

"How flattering," said Curufin. "An interesting problem, you say?"

"More interesting than these tapestries, at any rate," said Maedhros, glancing at the woven image of Blackie being fed hay by his plump owner.

"Then tell us what it is," said Caranthir.

"Right," said Erwen. "After arriving in Mandos, I started to remember things. Strange things. I remembered being a human girl, in a world very different from ours, and I remembered writing stories. About our world. And I remembered writing this story."

"This story?" said Curufin.

"This story we're in right now - I remember writing it. Starting to write it. I don't know how it ends yet."

"What do you mean, 'the story we're in'?" said Celegorm. "Are you telling me _you_ wrote the Music of the Ainur? I find that highly improbable. Why are you listening to her, Father?"

"Because the alternative is watching another oliphaunt give birth," said Fëanor. "Continue, Erwen."

"I don't mean the Music. I just remember writing about you escaping from Mandos."

"Escaping?" said Maedhros, managing to sound hopeful and cynical at the same time, a difficult feat. "How?"

"I am not telling you yet," said Erwen. "Partly because it's not time for your escape yet, and partly because if I told you, I would not have anything to barter with."

"She is mad," said Celegorm.

"Possibly," said Fëanor. "On the other hand, people used to call me mad, too."

There was silence. Erwen looked as though she wanted to say "well, you _were_", except that you couldn't say that to Fëanor, because... because he was _Fëanor_, that's why.

"So, how can we find out if Erwen is right?" said Fëanor. "Treat it like a thought experiment. How would you go about proving that we are characters in a story?"

"If we are in a story, and she is the author of the story, she would know everything that's going to happen," said Curufin. "On the other hand, that could simply be foresight."

"And I don't know everything that's going to happen," said Erwen. "I don't know the whole story yet, because this is only the first chapter, and I don't think the author knows everything that's going to happen yet. Besides, I am counting on being able to change the story. I do know some things that will definitely happen, but it's like seeing bits of a puzzle without knowing where they fit in. The only part I can see clearly is the escape, because that is what should happen next. And how can you know that it is not ordinary foresight?"

"Does it matter?" said Maedhros.

His father and brothers stared at him.

"Well, does it?" he said. "Erwen says we're going to escape from Mandos. Maybe she is gifted with foresight, maybe there is something to this insane theory. The end result will be the same: we get out of Mandos."

"It does matter," said Erwen, "because I wanted you to help me rebel against the author, and how can you do that if you do not believe she exists?"

"Another rebellion?" said Maedhros. "No. I will not participate in another rebellion."

"Oh, come on, Maedhros," said Caranthir, "if what she says is true, this author is a human girl; that is hardly the same as rebelling against the Valar. But I don't think she is telling the truth."

"Umbarto is going to win the bet," said Erwen. "If I am right, will that convince you?"

"It will be a start," said Fëanor, "but it will not be enough."

"Then what can I do?" said Erwen, now starting to sound desperate.

"If there really is a person somewhere who is writing this story," said Fëanor thoughtfully, "then there must be a tapestry somewhere in these halls showing that."

"I don't think she's writing it yet," said Erwen. "I am not even sure she is in this world. I don't know, maybe I was wrong, maybe I really have gone mad."

At that moment, the twins returned, one looking triumphant and the other sulky.

"I won!" announced Amras happily. "Did we miss anything?"


	3. A Dark Passage

**Chapter 2: A Dark Passage**

_In which not much happens, really, except that the main characters spend some time doing typical Noldorin things such as arguing, being smug and starting rebellions._

* * *

><p>"Remind me again why we are doing this," said Celegorm.<p>

"Because you don't have anything better to do," said Maedhros.

"I could go and argue with Eöl again."

"You've been doing that for an age already."

"Well, yes. But it is still more fun than this. These tapestries have to be the most boring I have ever seen; they're all white!"

"That would be because they show the Grinding Ice," said Erwen. "If you had seen the real thing, you would not be whining about the tapestries."

"I have seen it," said Celegorm.

"Yes, from a nice comfortable ship."

"Stop bickering," said Maedhros. "We are supposed to look for a tapestry in which Erwen appears."

"Why are we doing it, anyway?" said Celegorm.

"Because Father said so. I am sure he has some kind of plan."

"And his plans always turn out so well," said Erwen sarcastically.

"What is that supposed to mean?" said Celegorm.

Maedhros sighed. Fëanor had asked Erwen about her life, so as to know where to start looking, and then they had split up to search for a tapestry of her. He had ended up with Celegorm and Erwen, who had argued with each other, and occasionally with him, the entire time. And on top of it all they had been given the task of looking among the tapestries of Helcaraxë, which were possibly the most boring ones in the entire endless halls. They had not found a single one with elves in it, just ice, ice and more ice. If he had had a head, he would be having a headache by now.

"Stop. Bickering. Now."

Silence.

"That's better. The time is up and we have not found anything, so we will go back and see if any of the others had better luck."

As it turned out, they had. Caranthir and the twins looked just as tired and disappointed as Maedhros' team, but Fëanor and Curufin looked smug. Well, more so than usual.

"We found something," announced Curufin. "Something very... interesting."

"Show us, then!" said Caranthir, not in the mood for mysterious comments.

Fëanor led the way through long, windling passages, turning right and left every now and then. As they went on, the tapestries on the walls became darker. Except for the occasional splash of red.

"Oh, no_,_" said Erwen and stopped. "I don't think I want to look at this. Can't we go and find another tapestry? There must be others, let's go and find another one -"

Fëanor turned to face her.

"We will look at this one," he said calmly.

Erwen became silent and followed him without protesting, although she kept her eyes on the floor so as to not see the images on the walls. The other elves did the more or less the same. These tapestries were not the kind of pictures you wanted to have in your living room.

"There," said Fëanor, and pointed at a tapestry. His sons looked at it.

"What is interesting about it?" said Amras, eyeing it with disgust.

"Look closer," said Fëanor.

"No thanks," said Maedhros. Fëanor sighed.

"Something has been grafted onto the tapestry. Or someone, I should say."

Caranthir took a closer look.

"That's true," he said. "That is Erwen, is it?"

"It is a bit hard to tell, given the circumstances," said Curufin, "but we think so. Can you confirm that it is you, Erwen?"

Erwen continued to stare at the floor without giving any sign of having heard Curufin's question.

"Look at it," commanded Fëanor.

Erwen slowly lifted her gaze and looked at the tapestry.

"Yes, it is. Now can we _please_ leave?"

* * *

><p>They were back in the room with the tapestries of Blackie. Erwen seemed to have calmed down somewhat - at least she was not actually shaking any more.<p>

"Well, that was... interesting," said Caranthir. "But what does it mean?"

"I think I will let Erwen answer that," said Fëanor. "I hope she can explain it."

"I think I can," said Erwen. "I told you that I remembered being a human girl, right? Well, I - she - read about you. You were in a book. And then she wrote about you; lots of people wrote stories about you, I remember reading them... And she wrote this story, and it will be about you escaping from Mandos, and then she decided to insert herself in it, so she created me. I think that is why I was grafted onto the tapestry - because I was not in the story in the book from the beginning."

"Wait a minute," said Celegorm. "If you are her, then why did you want us to rebel against the author?"

"Do you really need to ask that after seeing that tapestry? She could have given me a nice life, couldn't she, but instead she just had to go and torment me as much as she could!"

"She created a copy of herself and then forced it to endure that?" said Maedhros. "What kind of sick person voluntarily puts herself in Angband? Why would she do that?"

"Because she thought it would make a good story, or because she wanted to test herself, or just because she always loved tregedies," said Erwen. "I don't know. I intend to find her and punch her in the face for that. Hard. And for Helcaraxë, too; that was not much better."

"You said you didn't even know if she lived in this world, and yet you intend to punch her in the face?"said Caranthir. "How are you going to find her?"

"I was counting on you to do that," said Erwen. "In return for me telling you how you will be able to escape from Mandos."

"Incidentally, I have figured out how to do that," said Fëanor.

Erwen stared at him.

"You are bluffing," she said, but it did not sound like she believed it herself.

"Of course not," said Fëanor. "It was relatively easy. If you really did not want me to figure it out, you should not have given me hints. Although I would probably have guessed it anyway."

"I gave you hints?"

"You said it was not time for our escape yet," said Fëanor. "Shall I tell you why?"

Erwen kept silent, as if she did not want to accidentally reveal more.

"Tell us," said Maedhros.

"Because Káno is not here yet," said Fëanor.

Erwen sighed.

"You really did figure it out. I am impressed."

"You should not be. If a human girl could figure it out, it should hardly present a problem to the greatest Noldo that ever lived."

"I am not human."

"Your alter ego is, you said."

"Excuse me," said Caranthir. "I don't understand how Makalaurë could help us escape. Would you mind telling us?"

"It was obvious, once you thought about it," said Fëanor dreamily. "I wonder why I did not come up with that solution before."

"I _said, _would you mind telling us this fantastic solution?" said Caranthir.

"It's simple, really," said Erwen smugly. "Once upon a time, someone managed to convince Námo to let out a person from Mandos, even though it was against the rules."

"Lúthien..." said Curufin.

"Yes," said Erwen. "Námo's only known weakness is music. You have a brother who is one of the greatest singers that ever lived. Put those two together and what do you get?"

"Will that really work?" said Amrod.

"Yes," said Erwen. "There would hardly be a story if we all stayed in Mandos."

"Come to think of it," said Celegorm, "why are you still here? Most of those who participated in the rebellion were pardoned long ago. Only a few of the most bloodthirsty ones are left."

"Like those cruel followers of yours," muttered Maedhros.

"Oh, stop blaming me for that. I could hardly prevent it, I was busy getting killed at the time!"

"Well, you accepted them into your service in the first place."

"Says the one who decided we should ally with the Easterlings. You know we needed everyone we could get. Anyway, Erwen still hasn't answered my question."

"Because I preferred staying here," said Erwen.

"Here?" said Amras. "Tyelko was right from the beginning, she _is _mad."

"If you don't have a body, you cannot get hurt. That sounded like an excellent prospect to me," said Erwen. "Until the strange memories started to appear, that is. After that, I decided that I needed to find out if they were true. I can stand being out of my body, but being out of my mind as well would be too much."

"And now you know," said Curufin.

Erwen sighed.

"Yes, now I know, but there is nothing I can do about it, and can no longer demand your help in return for an escape plan, so I will probably end up going mad anyway."

"Oh, we are still going to rebel against the author," said Fëanor.

"Are you?" said Erwen hopefully.

"Of course," said Fëanor. "A human girl in charge of the world? I will not tolerate that. The question is, can you help us?"

"Yes," said Erwen without hesitating.

"How, exactly?"

"Er... I could provide valuable insights into the authors mind? That has to be helpful. And I will probably know some things that are going to happen?"

"In that case," said Curufin, "perhaps you could tell us when Makalaurë is going to show up?"

"About now, I think," said Erwen. "Is there anything else that has to happen first? No, I think we have covered it all. He should arrive any minute now."

"Of course," said Amrod, "a minute can be fairly long in here."


	4. When Sorrow Sang

**Chapter 3: When Sorrow Sang**

_In which Erwen breaks the fourth wall, the author makes Pratchett references and our "heroes" escape from Mandos.  
><em>

* * *

><p>The plan went wrong almost immediately.<p>

"What do you mean, you will not do it?" screamed Fëanor. "You are my son! You will do as I say!"

"I will not," said Maglor.

"He is not asking you to do anything immoral, Káno," said Curufin. "Only to sing."

"I will not do it."

"You cannot refuse to help me!" shouted Fëanor. "You swore an oath!"

"That is exactly why I will not do it! Now leave me alone!"

The spirit of Maglor floated out through a doorway between two rather fascinating tapestries of the great war between the anthills of Understone and Mossytrunk.

"I can hardly blame him," said Amrod. "Will the oath really start haunting us again if we return to the world?"

"I was under the impression that Russandol and Káno fulfilled it," said Curufin.

"Well, yes, in a way," said Maedhros.

"In a way?" said Caranthir. "Did you fulfill it or not?"

"We regained two of the Silmarils," said Maedhros, "but Makalaurë threw his in the sea, and I brought mine with me when, when I..."

"'Threw yourself into the fiery chasm' is the usual phrase, I think," said Celegorm.

"Yes," said Maedhros. "That."

"What about the third one?" said Caranthir.

"Eärendil has it," said Amras. "We saw the tapestry, remember? The Valar built him a ship of glass and mithril and let him sail the sky as a star."

"Oh," said Fëanor, who had now calmed down enough to stop shouting. "Then we will probably be forced to capture that one, yes. We need not worry about the others."

"No," said Maedhros. "If going back to life means that I have to attack Eärendil, then I will not do it."

"Nor will I," said Amras reluctantly.

"Nor I," said Amrod.

Fëanor looked about to explode.

"You are traitors, all of you ! ! ! How can you turn your backs on me ! ! ! I am your father ! ! ! !"

"You are using multiple exclamation marks," said Erwen. "Stop it."

Everyone stared at her.

"You know, exclamation marks?" she said. "Used in writing to show that the speaker is exclaiming something?"

"Used in _writing_, yes," said Amras. "We are_ speaking_."

"Well, yes, but what we are saying is being written down," said Erwen. "And Fëanáro's last sentence needed four exclamation marks, which is dangerously close to five exclamation marks, the sure sign of a deranged mind."

"Are you calling my father deranged?" said Caranthir.

"No, that would be suicidal - "

"You cannot be suicidal; you are already dead," said Celegorm.

"What I was trying to do," said Erwen, "was to make you stop arguing and focus on the issue at hand: how can we free you from your oath?"

"I don't think that is possible," said Maedhros. "We swore by Ilúvatar himself. The oath is unbreakable."

"So we will have to fulfill it," said Curufin.

"Not at the price of spilling more blood," said Amras. "I wish you had never brought this up. You made me dream of feeling the wind against my face again; I had almost managed to stop longing for that."

"I can see two options then," said Erwen. "Either you acquire the Silmaril in a peaceful way, or you ask Ilúvatar to lift your oath."

"No one gives away a Silmaril willingly," said Celegorm. "We did try asking first, you know. It never works. I don't see why it would be different this time."

"There has to be a way," said Erwen. "We are going to get out of here, and to do that we need Makalaurë, and he won't help us unless the oath can be removed or fulfilled without harming anyone. Therefore it has to be possible."

"I think there is something wrong with that logic," said Amrod.

"Yes," said Caranthir, "it is stupid."

"Now would be an excellent time to provide us with those 'valuable insights into the author's mind' that you claimed to have," said Curufin.

Erwen sighed.

"I will try," she said. "Sooner or later one of us is bound to come up with an idea - there won't be much of a story if we have to stay in here forever."

"You do that," said Maedhros. "I am going to talk to Makalaurë."

"Do you think Vairë has finished today's sunset yet?" said Amras.

"Only in the eastern lands, I think," said his twin. "Do you want to go and look at it?"

"Well, I don't have anything better to do," said Amras. "Although I must say I prefer the sunsets on the west coast, where the sun sinks into the sea. Is it as beautiful in reality?"

"Better," said Amrod and sighed. "Much better."

* * *

><p>Given the warped nature of spacetime in the endless halls, it is hard to say how much time passed before Erwen had her idea - which, like most of her ideas, was very simple. Nor is it possible to say how long it took for the small company - Erwen, Fëanor and all of his sons except Maglor - to gather. Therefore, I will simply go on and narrate the conversation that followed after Erwen had explained her idea.<p>

"I still don't think it will work," said Celegorm. "No one gives away a Silmaril."

"But we're not asking him to give it away," said Erwen, "merely to let one of you hold it for a few seconds. That should satisfy the oath, shouldn't it? You have already captured two Silmarils, so when you get hold of the third, the oath is fulfilled. What you do with it afterwards doesn't matter."

"Yes, I believe it should work," said Fëanor.

Maedhros looked doubtful.

"I have never actually met Eärendil," he said, "so I cannot speak for him, but I have met his wife. And the last time I saw her, she was throwing herself from a cliff. Which she preferred to giving us the Silmaril. They may well refuse to listen to us."

"That is a risk," admitted Erwen, "but Makalaurë should be able to persuade Elrond to speak for us. And as for throwing herself from a cliff, well, that's something you have in common, at least."

"That was not funny," said Maedhros.

"I thought it was," said Erwen.

"But what if it doesn't work?" said Amras. "We really should have a plan B."

"Plan B is finding Ilúvatar and asking him to remove the oath," said Caranthir. "Plan C is returning to Mandos."

His brothers looked at him skeptically.

"Those are not very elaborate plans," said Maedhros.

"They will suffice," said Caranthir. "Now, who will go and ask Makalaurë?"

"I will do it," said Fëanor. "I am his father; he should listen to me."

"NO!" said Maedhros and the twins in chorus.

"You go, Russandol," said Amrod. "You were always closest to him."

Maedhros went, leaving his family and Erwen with nothing to do but looking at the walls. They were a glowing orange.

"The inside of the earth," said Amras. "See if you can spot Russandol."

"Or a ring," said Erwen. "Five points for finding your brother, twenty for the ring."

That kept them busy until Maedhros came back.

"He will not do it," was the first thing he said.

"What do you mean, 'he will not do it'?" said Caranthir.

"It was a perfectly clear phrase, Carnistir. He says he will not do it."

"Why?" said Amrod quickly, eager to get as much information as possible before the inevitable explosion of Fëanor's rage.

"He said that the last time I persuaded him to go along with my plan to capture a Silmaril, he ended up killing innocent elves, losing his last brother and walking the seashore for thousands of years, so I would have to forgive him for not taking my advice this time," said Maedhros.

"WHY WILL NO ONE DO AS I SAY?" shouted Fëanor.

"ALL CAPS," said Erwen, "is that better or worse than multiple exclamation marks?"

Everyone stared at her.

"You are mad too," said Amras. "I will go and ask Makalaurë."

"Good luck," said Maedhros bitterly.

After a surprisingly short time, during which Fëanor calmed down to the point of being able to speak in a normal tone (with some effort), Amras was back. And he was not alone.

"You managed to persuade him?" said Fëanor. "How?"

"I said 'please'," said Amras. "You should try it some time, Father."

"Was that all?" said Curufin.

"He reminded me of how long he had been here, and told me he would like to see the moon and the sun," said Maglor. "I had not understood how bored you had become; personally, I was looking forward to some rest. But very well, I will sing, as long as you promise me there will be no more killing other elves."

"I swear," said Fëanor.

"Don't," said Maglor and shuddered. "No more oaths, either. Your word will be enough."

"Excellent," said Maedhros. "Now let us go to Námo."

* * *

><p>The dark figure looked skeptically at the spirits of Fëanor and his seven sons.<p>

"You were doomed to remain in the halls of the dead until the end of time," he said.

"At least hear our petition," said Fëanor. "Sing, Káno."

And Maglor sang. He sang about their past deeds, and every syllable was filled with sorrow and regret. He sang of the shame and the loneliness and his long bitter years of walking the seashore, and how the greatest pain of all was the helplessness: that their past deeds never could be undone, no matter how much he wished it. If only they could do something! The past was dark, yes, and the present grey, but the future... if only there was a future.

In the middle of all the darkness was a tiny seed of hope. It was the desire to atone.

And Maglor sang on, and the seed grew into a flower, fragile as a soap bubble and just as beautiful. It whispered of all the good they could do, of the fair things they could create, if only they had a chance. They could not erase the harm they had done before, but they could bring good things into the world in a desperate attempt to compensate. It was not much, it was not enough, but it had to be better than nothing.

And with a last chord he picked the flower and threw it before Námo's feet.

"Yet your oath remains," said the Vala, though his voice was less stern than before. "And thus I cannot let you out, though I would wish to; for the oath will ever drive you to do evil deeds, as it has done before."

"We have thought of a way to satisfy the oath," said Fëanor and explained.

"And if our plan fails, we will willingly let ourselves be imprisoned in Mandos until the end of time," said Maedhros.

The dark Vala contemplated their words in silence. Fëanor and his sons would have held their breath if they had still had lungs.

"And what is this?" said a voice, speaking Sindarin. It was a voice the middle sons of Fëanor recognized very well, since they had spent a sizeable portion of the last millenia arguing with its owner.

"Eöl," said Curufin. "And Maeglin too, I see."

"This is most unfair," said Maeglin. "If they are going to be let out, so should we."

"What?" said Caranthir.

"My deeds were hardly worse than yours," said Eöl.

"Oh, did I try to kill my son when he deserted me?" said Curufin. "It must have slipped my mind; I was sure I left him safe in Nargothrond. I do not remember murdering my wife, either."

"All I did was try to defend what was mine from intruders," said Eöl. "You had no right to take our lands."

"_You_ had no right to take our cousin to wife," said Celegorm.

"We defended your lands from Morgoth!" said Caranthir.

"Enough," said Maedhros. "We will gain nothing from arguing about past offenses."

"_You_," said Maeglin, "are just jealous because my father is a better blacksmith than yours."

"I think _not_," said Fëanor haughtily.

"Deny it if you wish, but it is true all the same," said Eöl. "Did I not forge the sword that is prophesied to kill Morgoth?"

For a moment a glimpse of something that may have been anger and may have been interest flashed in Fëanor's eyes - figuratively speaking, of course, since he did not actually possess eyes at the moment. Then he turned to face Námo.

"You have heard our plea," he said. "What is your answer?"


	5. Nightfall

**Chapter 4: Nightfall**

_In which the readers should be grateful that the author decided to use Blind Guardian songs as titles, otherwise this chapter title would have been a pun about burning shippers._

* * *

><p>"It is not as beautiful as Laurelin," said Amras. "It seems... crude, somehow. Just a big ball of light. A tree is much more graceful."<p>

"It is better than eternal darkness," said Maedhros, glancing down at his right hand as if trying to make sure that it hadn't disappeared. He had been doing so every few minutes since they were released.

"_That_ is certainly true," said Amras. "And I am looking forward to the sunset. Not to mention the sunrise. I can imagine it will look absolutely beautiful from Tirion; a great sphere of fire rising from the waves...

"...the clouds glowing pink and purple," said Amrod longingly, "and..."

"We are not going to Tirion," said Fëanor.

"Are we not?" said Amras.

"Not now, at any rate," said Fëanor. "It would draw too much attention. We will go to Formenos first; I expect it should be empty. We need to get information and make plans before we act..."

"But we have spent three chapters doing nothing but talking already!" said a voice behind them. "The readers will grow bored! They expected this to be an action-filled tale about Fëanáro escaping from Mandos and wrecking havoc all over Arda, not just a lot of dialogue that the author, in all her mediocrity, thought was witty!"

The eight elves turned around. The person who had spoken was an elf-maid. She was beautiful, but not extraordinarily so; her only truly striking feature was her hair, which glittered as gold in the sunshine.

"Ah, Erwen," said Curufin. "What kept you?"

"And what did you just say?" said Maglor.

"Nothing important, only a few complaints about the author, to fill up the space," said Erwen. "She has just realized how long this story will have to be, and she is desperately wondering how she will be able to fill up this chapter."

There was a short silence in which Fëanor and his sons tried to make sense of what Erwen had said, before deciding that it was not worth bothering with.

"You never answered my question," said Curufin.

"Námo was busy talking to Eöl and Maeglin," said Erwen. "Well, they did most of the talking, really. You know how Námo is; never opens his mouth if he can avoid it. They seemed to think it was unfair that you were let out."

"I suppose it was, in a way," said Maglor thoughtfully.

"No it wasn't," said Celegorm. "I never betrayed a city to the Enemy."

Maglor coughed. It sounded suspiciously like "Nargothrond".

"That was nowhere near what Maeglin did," said Curufin. "We had a slight disagreement with Findaráto about the wisdom of risking the entire kingdom over a mortal man's love. And let me point out that Nargothrond fell because it abandoned the policy of secrecy we instituted, following instead the advice of another mortal."

"I think the key point is that we all regret what we did," said Maedhros, with a stern look at his brothers, "whereas Eöl has never admitted he did anything wrong. Let's go."

"We're not going to Tirion, are we?" said Erwen nervously.

"No, we will go to Formenos," said Fëanor. "We need to refine our plans before setting them into motion. This is our last chance, and we must not waste it by rushing into anything."

"But you are _Fëanáro_," said Erwen. "You are pretty much the personification of hasty decisions. You _always _rush into things."

"Only when I am angry," said Fëanor. "Besides, I am capable of learning from my mistakes."

Erwen stared at him. Then she said, "Yes. Yes, I can believe that. What I cannot believe is that you are capable of admitting you ever made mistakes."

"I was speaking hypothetically," said Fëanor.

* * *

><p>They found Formenos exactly as they had left it, except for the deep layer of dust that covered everything. It took them the rest of the day to clean up a few rooms to stay in, and when they had finished there was no food. When Fëanor and his sons gathered around the kitchen table, tempers were somewhat strained.<p>

"We should go hunting," said Celegorm.

"You may do so later," said Fëanor. "Presently, we will discuss what to do next."

"Acquire food," said Amrod. His father ignored him.

"First we have to free ourselves from the oath," said Maglor.

"Yes," said Fëanor. "You must speak to Elrond. He lives on Tol Eressëa, so you will have to find a ship..."

"...but don't set fire to it and don't kill anyone," muttered Amras.

"I already know what I have to do," said Maglor. "Sail to Eressëa, find Elrond, ask him to talk to his parents, go to Elwing's tower, ask Eärendil to let me hold the Silmaril for a few seconds."

"To let _me _hold it for a few seconds," said Maedhros. "You need both hands for your harp; I can manage with one."

"Russandol," said Maglor, staring at his brother, "you don't have to-"

"Don't argue with me," said Maedhros. "I am not going to let you do it."

"But -"

"This is not negotiable, Makalaurë. Do go on, father."

"Then I suppose we shall have to look into the matter of Erwen's story," said Fëanor.

"Where _is _Erwen?" said Caranthir.

"Not here," said Amrod, "shall I go and look for her?"

"Do so," said Fëanor. "While Káno travels to Eressëa, the rest of us will remain here. None of you are to go to Tirion or any other place until I give you permission."

"I want to go and see mother," said Amras sulkily. "And I would appreciate it if you refrained from burning me alive this time."

Fëanor looked into his youngest son's eyes.

"If you are determined to go, I cannot stop you," he said, "nor will I try to. But I would ask you to wait a little while, until we are no longer bound by the oath. Can you do that much for me?"

Amras hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

"Good," said Fëanor. "Now, we will of course have to acquire food..."

"Hardly a problem," said Caranthir, "this is Aman, after all. We managed to survive in the wilderness; we should be able to find food here."

"I think I saw some trees that were still bearing fruit," said Celegorm, "and we can go hunting, of course."

A door opened and Amrod came in, followed by Erwen.

"She was reading," he said.

"Really?" said Curufin. "Where did she found something to read?"

"Oh, I found some old documents while we were cleaning," said Erwen.

"Old documents, you say?" said Fëanor. "What old documents and why did you decide to read them?"

"Your writings about Primitive Elvish," said Erwen, "and I read them because they seemed interesting -"

"Why were you looking among my papers?" said Fëanor. "What were you hoping to find there?"

"Something to read?" said Erwen.

"I find it highly suspicious that the first thing you do is sneak away and steal my papers," said Fëanor.

"I did not steal them, I borrowed them!" said Erwen. "You think I am some kind of spy? For whom?"

"Well, you were a thrall of Moringotto," said Celegorm, "so that would be the obvious choice."

"I was _never _a thrall," said Erwen indignantly.

Everyone stared at her.

"We saw the images, you know," said Maglor slowly, as if talking to a child. "Of you. In Angband."

"I was a captive," said Erwen, "not a thrall. There is a difference. I never worked for him, and I never will."

"And how do we know we can trust you?" said Celegorm.

"You don't," said Erwen. "How do I know you won't kidnap me and force me to marry you?"

"I have standards," said Celegorm.

Erwen looked as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over her head.

"Enough," said Maedhros. "If we can't trust her, we will simply have to either send her away or keep an eye on her."

"We are not sending her away," said Fëanor. "Not yet, at least. Erwen, you are to write down all you know. You have told us that we were in a book, and that some humans, your alter ego among them, started writing stories about us."

"Yes," said Erwen. "Fanfiction, it's called."

"Write down all you know," said Fëanor. "I am going to the forge, and I expect you to have finished when I am back."

He rose from the table, leaving Erwen with her mouth gaping in disbelief.

"How does he expect me to summarize fanfiction just like that? It could take aeons -"

"Then I suggest you start writing," said Maedhros. "Makalaurë, find a pen and paper and then stay here and watch her. The rest of us will go and search for food."

* * *

><p>The night fell, and Erwen kept on writing. Maglor had found a Noldorin lamp in a cupboard; the blue light it emitted was as clear as on the day it was made. For hours, the only sound heard in the kitchen was the rasping of Erwen's pen. Then the sons of Fëanor started to return, and a fire was lit and food was cooked and Caranthir leaned over Erwen's shoulder to see what she had written. Which turned out to be an unusually bad idea, even for Caranthir.<p>

"Ouch!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Why did you do that?" said Caranthir angrily, rubbing his arm where Erwen had hit him.

"I didn't mean to; it was a reflex," said Erwen. "Anyway, why did you sneak up on me like that?"

"I did not," said Caranthir, "I just wanted to take a look at - wait, why have you written that I am a ship? And what does Haleth have to do with anything?"

Erwen sniggered. "In the glorious world of fanfiction, you had a crush on her."

"What?" Caranthir's face reddened. "I intended to form an alliance with her people, and the stubborn mortal refused. Why in the name of Ilúvatar would anyone think I loved her?"

"It's something fundamental in human nature, I think," said Erwen. She dipped her pen in the inkstand and continued writing. "People like to speculate about what relationships their favourite characters have. Or something. They call it shipping."

The other sons of Fëanor, who had been listening to the conversation, all looked like they wanted to ask the obvious question, but it was Maedhros who finally broke the silence.

"Do these people write romances about me too?

"Oh, _yes._ Quite a lot of people seem to think you had a relationship with Findekáno."

"_Findekáno?_" Maedhros' brothers had not seen him look so horrified since the Nirnaeth. "But he's my _cousin!_ My _male _cousin!"

"So, what about me?" said Celegorm.

"Irissë seems to be the most common one."

Celegorm bit his lip and looked down. Curufin smiled knowingly. Maedhros would have looked even more shocked if it had been possible for him to do so. Since it was not, he merely continued to look horrified.

"But she's your _cousin!_"

"Only half-cousin!"

"She's still your cousin!"

"It's a moot point anyway, isn't it, since she married that blasted Dark Elf."

"Heh," said Erwen. "I guess I should not tell Maitimo about those people who pair him with Makalaurë. Or Elrond. Or Elros. Or Sauron."

"WHAT?"

"Just let it go, Russandol," said one of the twins. "What about me and Ambarussa?"

"Well - have you heard the term 'twincest'?"

"WHAT?"

"What is _wrong _with you humans?" Maglor looked disgusted.

"Excuse me, I am not human. The author was kind enough to turn me into an elf. It is about the only thing I am grateful to her for."

"Hang on - have _you _written any of these disturbing stories?" said Maedhros, eying Erwen with suspicion.

"Er... well, it wasn't me, it was the author, I am just as much of a victim as you are, she put me in Angband, you know -"

"Very well. Has _she_ written any if these disturbing stories?"

"Erm, yes, she wrote one about you and Amlach - "

"AMLACH? YOU MARRIED ME TO A MAN?"

"... and one about Curufinwë and Amarië..."

Curufin smiled calmly. "That would almost be worth it, just to see the look on Findaráto's face. However, your author seems to have forgotten that I am married."

"Didn't stop your grandfather."

"Do _not _speak ill of my father." Fëanor had returned. Erwen jumped at the sound of his voice.

"I'm sorry! Please don't kill me?"

Fëanor glared coolly at her. "I have no intention of doing so _yet_. Now, did you manage to find any food?"


	6. Face the Truth

**Chapter 5: Face the Truth**

_In which Fëanor and his sons, having grasped that a Mary Sue is a bad thing, need to make sure that Erwen isn't one._

* * *

><p>The sun rose. It was just as beautiful as Amras had expected it to be, but unfortunately he did not have the opportunity to see it. He was busy discussing with his father and brothers. Their conversation will not be depicted here because I have written way too much dialogue already. What I would like to do is write a description of the sunrise instead, but I know it will never be as good as the real thing, so instead I will ask you to close your eyes and picture it for yourself. Close your eyes...<p>

Beautiful, wasn't it? Now let's continue with the story. The only thing that happened while you weren't looking was that they finished talking and went to find that annoying girl I already resent putting in this story.

"Erwen," said Fëanor. "We have some concerns."

The elf-maid looked up. Fëanor and his seven sons were spread out in a half-circle in front of her. She had not noticed them when they entered the room, but this was not all that strange; she had been reading, and thus would probably not have noticed if Morgoth and all his dragons had appeared in front of her.

"Oh for goodness' sake," she said, "it's still your texts about Primitive Elvish; I know I'm not allowed to take out any of your papers but you never said I couldn't finish reading the ones I already have -"

"That is not what he was talking about," said Curufin. "We have read your account and found something worrying. It appears that these stories you have told us about frequently feature evil creatures called Mary Sues, who inevitably turn the tales they are in into disasters. Creatures that usually are avatars of their authors..."

"Wait," said Erwen. "Are you saying that I am a Mary Sue?"

"Well, you were tortured in Angband and didn't break," said Celegorm. "That sounds suspicious to me."

"So was your brother."

"That's true," said Caranthir. "Russandol, you're not a Mary Sue, are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

Fëanor looked thoughtfully at his eldest son. "But you are extremely good-looking, you have an unusual hair colour, you survived things that would have killed most others, you had a very good sword..."

"Father. That sword was exceptionally good because it was forged by _you_."

Fëanor's eyes blazed with sudden fire.

"Are you accusing me of being a Mary Sue?"

"No, I was merely pointing out..."

"Be silent! I've had enough of your disobedience!"

"Ahem," said Curufin. "None of us can be a Mary Sue, because we lack the distinguishing attribute, namely being female. The male equivalent is, I believe, called a Gary Stu?"

"Yes. Or Marty Stu," said Erwen.

"Now," continued Curufin, "I have read through the material and managed to compile a list of typical Mary Sue traits. I suggest that we compare the character of Erwen to the points on my list, and then conclude whether or not she is a Mary Sue."

"What about this Gary Stu thing? Do we need to find out if Russandol -" Caranthir saw the look his eldest brother gave him and hastened to add "- or any of us - is a Gary Stu?"

"Let us start with the question at hand," said Curufin. "Is Erwen a Mary Sue?"

"I'm not."

"That remains to be seen. Now, point one: is Erwen stunningly beautiful, with exotic hair and eye colour?"

Fëanor and his sons examined Erwen critically.

"She is not particularly beautiful," concluded Maglor, "and her eyes are nothing special, but she does have an exotic hair colour."

"Objection! Blond hair is not exotic," said Erwen, and seeing the sceptical glances of the elves she hurried to add, "All right, all right, it's not usually seen among Noldor, but it exists. There is Vanyarin blood on my mother's side, so that explains it. The truth is, the author had trouble imagining herself looking different, so she gave me her own appearance. I do think she could have made me a bit more beautiful."

"She does have Vanyarin colouring," said Fëanor, in a tone that made it clear that this was not a compliment.

"Point two: does she have a cool name?" said Curufin.

"She has a stupid name," said Caranthir scornfully.

"You're the right one to talk about stupid names, Redface," said Erwen.

Caranthir's face turned to a familiar shade of red, and Curufin, who could see that his brother was about to start a fight, hurried to read the next point.

"Is she exceptionally talented in an implausibly wide variety of areas, possessing skills that are rare or nonexistent?"

"I don't know," said Amras. "What talents does she have?"

"The ability to withstand torture," said Celegorm.

"That was mostly pride and stubbornness. Those are generally considered flaws, not talents," said Erwen. "And can we _please_ stop talking about my stay in Angband, otherwise I am going to have flashbacks and you will have to question a quivering ball on the floor."

Maedhros' eyes softened. "Right. Tyelko, no more mentioning you-know-what. Any other talents?"

"She's intelligent?" suggested Amrod.

"How do you know that?" said Maedhros.

"She teamed up with us."

"That was because I thought Fëanáro would be the only one crazy enough not to dismiss my story as conspiracy theories," said Erwen, "but yes, I am intelligent, I suppose."

"Anything else?" said Maedhros. "Curvo, what are the typical Mary Sue talents?"

"An amazing singing voice..."

"I wish." Erwen sighed. "Why couldn't she let me have an amazing singing voice? I've always wanted to be good at singing. Remind me to punch her in the face for that."

"...being better than the canon characters at everything..." Curufin continued.

"Who are the canon characters?" said Amras.

"That's us."

Fëanor laughed. "She is certainly not better than us. At anything."

"...learning impossibly quickly..."

"I have a good memory," admitted Erwen, "but I don't learn practical skills very quickly."

"...has amazingly good sex..."

The Fëanorians stared at Erwen, who blushed.

"I refuse to comment. Next question."

"...speaks several languages fluently..."

"Guilty. But you all do. And I only speak Quenya, Sindarin and Black Speech; it's not like I claim to speak Entish."

"You speak Black Speech?" It was hard to tell if Curufin was fascinated or appalled.

Erwen shuddered. "The things you pick up in Angband. It's not hard to learn, really; there are very few words. And most of them are obscene. Move on."

"...overly skilled in martial arts..."

"Then I wouldn't have been captured, would I?"

"It is perfectly possible to get captured by Moringotto even if you are an excellent swordsman," muttered Maedhros.

"I'll duel with her, then we'll see how good she is," said Caranthir, who had been sulking since the comment about his name.

"Later," said Fëanor. "Do go on, Curvo."

"...random magical powers, absurd natural athletic ability, magical or otherwise special accessories such as jewelry or weapons..."

"I don't have any of those."

"...a tragic backstory..."

Everyone looked at Erwen, who was trying to make puppy eyes and failing rather spectacularly.

"I think we will have to say yes on that one," said Maglor.

"Oh, come on," said Erwen. "My parents neither abused nor abandoned me, my little sister didn't die and there was no tragic love story. Yes, horrible things happened to me, but that was true for practically everyone in Beleriand at the time."

Maglor looked thoughtful. "She does have a point."

"If you yield on this issue, brother," said Curufin, "I shall consider her guilty on the next point, which is 'being highly persuasive".

Erwen sighed, and Curufin smugly continued to read his list.

"Next point is 'being flawless'. What are your flaws, Erwen?"

"Pride, stubbornness, overconfidence, obsessiveness, a tendency to neglect people who care about me, thinking I am above others, not doing what I'm told merely because I was told to do it."

"Those are flaws?" said Fëanor.

"Those are the ones of my flaws that I am willing to admit I have."

"And what are the flaws you do not willingly admit having?" said Fëanor, and looked into Erwen's eyes. She swallowed.

"Cowardice. And occasional violent tendencies."

"If you are a coward, how come Angband didn't break you?" said Celegorm.

"Because they were threatening me with the wrong things. I fear neither death nor pain."

"So what _do_ you fear?" said Curufin. Erwen stared at him.

"You have a history of being traitorous and manipulative -"

"I prefer resourceful," muttered Curufin.

"- and you expect me to tell me you my deepest fears? I _know_ you will find some way to use it against me. And didn't we agree to stop talking about Angband?"

"We did," said Maedhros. "What is the next point, Curvo?"

"Being universally liked and admired."

"I don't like her," said Caranthir immediately.

"You don't like anybody much," said Maglor. "I like her."

"You like everybody."

"Not you," said Maglor, but quickly added "Only joking."

"Stop bickering," said Maedhros. "I don't approve of her bizarre romance stories, but apart from that I don't mind her. What do the rest of you think?"

"I am grateful to her for revealing the true nature of the world to me," said Fëanor. Nobody pointed out that this was not, strictly speaking, an answer. It was somehow very hard to question anything Fëanor said - partly because he always spoke as if it was impossible to even consider that he might be wrong, and partly because of the mad glance in his eye that hinted at what could happen if someone did.

"I think her insight into the author's mind could be valuable to us," said Curufin smoothly.

Nobody pointed out that this was no answer, either. It seemed unfair to do so after they had accepted Fëanor's non-answer.

"What about you, Tyelko?" said Maedhros. "Minyarussa? Attarussa?"

"I do not trust her," said Celegorm.

"I neither like nor dislike her," said Amrod. Amras nodded. "I feel the same way."

"Next point, then," said Fëanor.

"Ends up in a relationship with a canon character and/or turns out to be the offspring of a canon character."

Caranthir frowned. "Canon characters - that's us, right? Well then, is anyone here planning to marry her?"

Silence.

"Didn't think so."

"And I am not the offspring of a canon character," said Erwen, "although I am probably distantly related to some, since all elves are descendants of those who awoke at Cuiviénen and they were not that many, especially the Vanyar. Also, please remind me to punch the author for making me drop information into the dialogue like this, especially since it's information the readers already know."

"Last point: becomes the most important character in the story, turning the canon characters into admiring bystanders who are defined by their relationship to the Mary Sue."

Fëanor laughed. "That is plainly ridiculous. I am the most important character in this story, and I have no intention of 'turning into an admiring bystander'. We are letting Erwen follow us since she may be useful because of her ability to understand how the author thinks. That is all."

"So, is she a Mary Sue or not?" said Amras.

"She is not," concluded Fëanor.

"Thank you," said Erwen.

"But I am still going to duel with her," said Caranthir. "She insulted me."

"If you wish," said Fëanor. "I am going to the forge. Káno, you had better get going. Take what provisions you need, if you can find them.


	7. Out on the Water

**Chapter 6: Out on the Water**

_In which Maglor sails to Eressëa, the sons of Fëanor go hunting and Fëanor locks himself up in his forge and demands an onion._

* * *

><p>The kitchen seemed empty. It was a large room, with a big wooden table and shelves that should have been stocked with food. Now, however, there was nothing in the room but two elves, a leather pack on the table, some dust in the corners and the golden sunlight.<p>

"Well, I suppose I should go," said Maglor, without a trace of eagerness in his voice.

"I suppose so," said Maedhros. "I would offer to come with you, but..."

"It wouldn't help, no," said Maglor. "You are not exactly made for avoiding attention. I'm not even sure I can avoid getting recognized."

"You should have a reasonable chance," said Maedhros. "There must be plenty of people there who have never seen you, and those who did, well, it was millenia ago and they only saw you once."

"Well, yes, but they saw me right before I killed them, Russandol. I expect it's hard to forget something like that."

"You are probably right," said Maedhros, "but there's no other way, so we'll just have to hope for the best."

Maglor sighed.

"That has never really worked for us, has it? Farewell then, brother."

He embraced his brother and left. Although he was used to walking, this somehow felt very hard. Alqualondë. He was going to Alqualondë. He knew perfectly well why he had to do it, but it did not make things any easier. The Teleri had forgiven the Noldor long ago, of course, but Maglor had a sneaking suspicion that this did not include him and his family.

* * *

><p>The kitchen seemed even emptier now. Maedhros sighed. He did hope that their plan would succeed, of course, but centuries of everything getting steadily worse had made him a somewhat pessimistic person. The universe simply didn't seem to like the house of Fëanor - although, sometimes, he could understand why the universe would feel that way.<p>

His thoughts were interrupted by the door slamming open and his two youngest brothers storming in, one of them dropping a deer carcass in the process.

"Is Makalaurë gone?" said Amrod.

"Yes," said Maedhros. "And pick up your deer, please."

"Sorry about that," said Amras and picked it up. "We thought it would be a good idea to get some food. Where are the others?"

"Father is in the forge," said Maedhros. Amras looked worried.

"What exactly is he working on?"

"I didn't ask," said Maedhros. "You can go and ask him, if you like."

"I'd rather not," muttered Amras, and looked down at the deer in his arms. "Well, I suppose we had better take care of this."

* * *

><p>It was evening when Maglor reached Alqualondë. The sun was setting behind him and its last rays coloured the white city red. That did not seem like a good omen. He hesitated for a moment, and then started walking again. Best to get it over with.<p>

He passed one house. Two houses. No one had recognized him yet. Three houses. Four. He kept expecting that somebody would shout "Murderer!" but nothing happened. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. He breathed out - only now did he realize he had been holding his breath since he entered the town - and stopped counting. Find a tavern near the water, that was the next step. Find a tavern and a captain who would sail in the morning.

* * *

><p>"Isn't Father going to eat?" said Caranthir.<p>

"He said he didn't want to be disturbed," said Curufin. "Give me some more meat, please, Attarussa."

"He hasn't eaten anything today," said Celegorm. "Perhaps we should bring him some food?"

"We might as well," said Maedhros. "Erwen, since you seem to have finished eating already..."

"Erm," said Erwen, "perhaps it would be better if one of you -"

"Why?" said Celegorm, putting down his knife.

"Well, for a start, he's less likely to kill any of you," said Erwen.

"Don't count on it," said Amras.

"He won't kill you," said Maedhros. "Fetch a plate and get going."

"I don't like forges," muttered Erwen, but she did as she was told. People tended to do that when Maedhros gave them orders.

* * *

><p>Maglor did not sleep that night. He simply sat on his bed and waited for the morning, or for someone to rush in and accuse him of murder, whichever happened first. When the first glimpse of light appeared in the east, he arose and went down the stairs and into the fresh morning air. It did not take him long to get to the harbour. He had expected to feel something - guilt, maybe, or sorrow - when he saw it, but he didn't. The tranquil scene in front of him bore no resemblance to the Kinslaughter. It was hard to understand that it was here it had happened.<p>

The ship was a typical Telerin swanship. Maglor had talked to its captain yesterday night; the boy could not be more than a couple of hundred years old, and had not had the slightest idea that the plainly-dressed traveller who wanted to go to Eressëa was in fact Makalaurë Fëanárion. There was nobody else in sight, but Maglor decided to wait until someone arrived before boarding the ship. He didn't want to be accused of trying to steal it, after all.

* * *

><p>Maedhros woke up. He noted that he was alive, had all his appendages attached and had been sleeping in a bed. He concluded that this day had begun well. Of course, there was still a distinct possibility that it would end badly.<p>

But the day continued to go well. Fëanor showed up for breakfast, even though he didn't take notice when anyone spoke to him and returned to the forge as soon as he had finished eating. After breakfast Celegorm suggested another hunting trip, and although the twins did complain a bit about being left behind, they grudgingly admitted that it was fair, since they had gone yesterday. Even the weather remained beautiful.

* * *

><p>He had made it. He was out on the water and no one had discovered who he was. Even if they somehow found out now, they would hardly throw him overboard, would they? Probably not, although to be on the safe side he avoided the other travellers as much as possible. Sometimes he wished he'd chosen a smaller ship, but that probably wouldn't have made hiding his identity any easier. Perhaps even the opposite. Anyway, the more innocent people on the ship with him, the less the chance of Ossë sinking it in a fit of rage. At least he hoped so.<p>

The captain had said that, if the wind did not change dramatically, they would reach the island before nightfall. That still seemed like plenty of time for things to go wrong.

* * *

><p>It was mid-afternoon when Maedhros, Celegorm, Caranthir and Curufin returned from their successful hunt. In the kitchen they found a big bowl of hazelnuts, as well as some apples and strange knobbly roots.<p>

"The twins claimed those roots were edible," said Erwen, appearing in the opposite doorway with a piece of parchment in one hand and an ink-dripping pen in the other. "If any of you drop dead after eating them, don't hold me responsible."

"Those are edible," said Celegorm. "Rather tasty, actually. So where are the twins?"

"I don't know," said Erwen. "Somewhere in the house, I think. Oh, no." The last comment was presumably caused by the big drop of ink that had fallen from her pen and stained her dress.

"What are you doing?" said Curufin.

"Trying to learn to write with my left hand," said Erwen.

"Why on earth would you do that?" said Celegorm.

"Well, since I'm apparently not allowed to, I quote, 'sneak around and steal papers', I had to find _something_ to do," said Erwen. "I thought about setting up a loom but then I realized there was probably nothing to weave and you would somehow deduce that my setting up a loom proved I was a spy for some dark and mysterious power -"

"You know," said Caranthir, "I always wondered what it would be like to have a sister, but now I'm rather glad I didn't have one."

* * *

><p>Maglor let out a relieved sigh as he set foot on Tol Erëssea for the first time in his life. Then he realized that this might be a slightly suspicious thing to do. Then he realized that most likely no one had noticed. Still, he made a mental note to avoid anything that could raise suspicion, including being overly careful not to do anything suspicious. He had already paid the captain - even after Morgoth had robbed it, there had been too much treasure at Formenos to bring with them to Middle Earth - and now all he had to do was to find Elrond's house. Of course, the easiest way would be to ask someone.<p>

As Maglor walked through the little town that had grown up around the harbour, he looked around for someone to ask, while at the same time trying not to look as if he was looking for someone. He turned around a corner and spotted a young elf-maid, hardly more than a girl, slim and dark-haired. Perfect. She could not possibly have met him before.

"Excuse me?" said Maglor, in Sindarin.

The girl looked up at him and smiled.

"Yes?"

"Could you please tell me where Elrond Halfelven lives?"

"Not in this town," said the girl, staring at him in wonder. "You can't hope to reach his house today."

"Nevertheless, perhaps you could describe the way for me?" said Maglor.

"Of course," said the girl, and launched into a long desciption of the road to Elrond's house, before finishing with "but as I said, it is a long way, almost a full day's walk; wouldn't you rather stay here tonight?"

"I like walking under the stars," said Maglor lightly. "I could cover a bit of the distance today, at least."

"Well, if you change your mind, my parents run an inn," said the girl. "The Silver Tree. It's next to the harbour."

Maglor thanked her, without saying that the last thing he wanted was to go to an inn presumably filled with Telerin sailors. He would much prefer a lonely walk in the starlight. He was good at walking.

* * *

><p>"Admit it," said Amrod, "they are rather tasty."<p>

"_Fine_," said Erwen, "they are, and the next time you tell me something is edible I will not question your sanity. But I will still let you try it first, just in case."

"Pass me the water," said Maedhros.

Nobody commented on the empty plate. Fëanor had evidently decided to stay and work on his mysterious project instead of eating, which made everyone around the table somewhat uneasy. When Fëanor got obsessed with something, anything could happen. The problem was that he was also about as easily stopped as a massive train, travelling at a sizeable fraction of the speed of light, fueled by sheer determination. All they could do was hope that this wouldn't end in mass destruction.

"AH-HA!"

Everyone looked up. That was Fëanor's voice. It was perfectly audible, even though its owner was still in the forge.

"Fetch me an onion!" shouted Fëanor.

"An onion?" said Caranthir. "Is he mad?"

Amras shrugged.

"I say we go along with it," he said. "Until he starts setting things on fire."

Maedhros rose.

"Right," he said. "I'll go and look for an onion.


	8. Captured

**Chapter 7: Captured**

_In which the author finds new and interesting ways to torture her characters, such as beating them, burning them, depriving them of food and deliberately bringing up painful memories._

* * *

><p>Maedhros slept until late the next day, which was understandable, considering he had spent most of the previous night searching for onions. The sun was already high in the sky when he woke up, and he could hear the sound of birds twittering frenetically and swords clashing against each other... He was suddenly wide awake. Yes, definitely; metal hitting metal. And it was coming from outside, not from the forge. He should have known that two good days in a row was more than he could hope for.<p>

"I won again," said Caranthir and lowered his sword. "For the... well, I'm not keeping score any more."

"Once more," said Erwen, struggling to get back on her feet.

"What is going on here?" said Maedhros, stopping to take in the scene in front of him. It was certainly not what he had expected. His imagination had painted pitch-black scenarios of Formenos being attacked by the Teleri, or even the Noldor of Tirion, but the only people in sight were Caranthir and Erwen. The former was grinning happily; the later was sweaty and grubby and looked about to collapse from exhaustion. But on a positive note, neither seemed to be seriously hurt.

"I said I'd duel with her," said Caranthir.

"Carnistir, the poor girl is half-dead."

"I don't see how that is my fault," said Caranthir, "she is the one who insists on continuing."

"I'm fine," said Erwen, although this was such a blatant lie that she might as well have saved what little breath she had left for something more productive.

"No," said Maedhros, "you are tired and bruised and not in a state to fight. So stop it."

"Just once more," said Erwen.

Maedhros sighed.

"Fine, once more. Carnistir, give me your sword."

"What?" said Caranthir.

"You heard me."

Caranthir grudgingly handed over his sword to his elder brother, who took it in his left hand. The fight that followed was so short and one-sided that it hardly deserved to be called a fight. Suffice to say that within a few moments Erwen was yet again lying on the ground, having been hit on the side of her head with the flat side of Maedhros' blade.

"Now listen," said Maedhros sternly to the pathetic figure in front of him. "To stop fighting when you are obviously unable to continue is not a bad thing. You should know this already; I thought you were supposed to be intelligent."

Erwen tried to get up again, but stumbled and dropped her sword. Caranthir laughed.

"I think somebody's spent too much time with the People of Hador," muttered Maedhros.

Erwen finally managed to get back on her feet.

"You may have a point," she said, swaying slightly. "Right. We'll continue tomorrow, then."

* * *

><p>Fëanor did not show up to any of that day's meals. They tried to bring him some food, but he didn't answer when they knocked on the door. The next day they started hearing loud bangs from the locked room. He didn't come out until nightfall, and then he didn't respond when his sons tried to talk with him. Instead he went outside on some mysterious business and stayed out until morning. There were a few more explosions that morning, but by mid-noon they stopped.<p>

"Is that a good sign or a bad sign?" said Amrod. He, and his brothers, were watching Caranthir beating up Erwen with a blunt training sword. There wasn't much else to do, except go hunting, and they already had all the meat they needed.

"Bad sign," said his twin. "It doesn't mean he's stopped doing whatever he's doing, it just means he's started doing it right."

"He might be working on something harmless," said Maedhros, although it was clear that he didn't believe it himself. Amras snorted.

"I don't think he is capable of that," he said. "I mean, look at the Silmarils. A few pretty jewels, you would think that's as harmless as it gets - and look at all the trouble they caused."

"Dead," said Caranthir, placing his sword against Erwen's neck. She sighed.

"What did I do wrong this time?"

"You weren't paying attention," said Caranthir. "Always a bad idea. Ask Tyelko."

Celegorm looked annoyed.

"I don't want to talk about that," he said.

"About what?" said Erwen.

"Doriath," said Caranthir. "His death."

"Well, fine," said Celegorm hotly, "he had his mother's eyes, and that distracted me a bit, and now _stop talking about it._"

"Right, sorry," said Caranthir. "Another match?"

Erwen raised her sword.

* * *

><p>The night came and went and Fëanor remained in his forge. There was no sign of Maglor, either.<p>

"I do hope nothing has happened to him," said Maedhros at the breakfast table.

"He was fine when he came to Tol Eressëa, at least," said Erwen.

"Is this another of your 'valuable insights into the author's mind'?" said Curufin. "It would be more helpful if you could tell us where Káno is now."

"I can't," said Erwen. "The author caught on to me and stopped switching to his perspective. We will simply have to wait."

They didn't have to wait very long, though. Maglor arrived later that day, accompanied by his foster-son. They were riding Valinorean horses, and had brought a third one for Maedhros. Fëanor did not come out to greet them, but then they didn't stay long either. They only paused to let the horses get some rest, and then Elrond, Maglor and Maedhros rode north towards the tower of Elwing and the last of the Silmarils.

The tower was slender, white and impossibly tall; seagulls flew in circles around it, crying out with sad voices. The cliffs below it were smooth, having been polished by the waves for aeons, and shifting in a thousand shades of grey. It was a hauntingly beautiful place, but the sons of Fëanor were not in the mood for enjoying the scenery.

Elrond entered the tower, and they waited for him to come back and tell them whether or not Eärendil and his wife were prepared to listen to them. After what seemed like an eternity, the half-elf returned. He led them up the stairs to a door at the top of the tower. It opened into a sparsely furnished room, in which two persons waited for them.

"Mother. Father. This is Maglor, my foster-father, and his brother Maedhros."

"I believe we have already met," said the pale woman behind the table. Her face was a frozen mask, revealing nothing of her emotions.

"Welcome, Maglor and Maedhros," said the man beside her. "Sit down. Elrond, you may leave."

Elrond swept out of the room, leaving the two sons of Fëanor alone with Eärendil and Elwing.

"My son says you have come to discuss something with us," said Eärendil in a cold but polite tone. "Doubtlessly the Silmaril. As you must have noticed, I am not wearing it at the moment."

"I had noticed, but given our history I cannot blame you for choosing not to display it in front of us," said Maglor. "Your guess is correct. It is because of the Silmaril that we come. And we come to discuss, not to fight. We bear no weapons and we bring no men. Will you listen to us?"

"If you have come to ask us to give you the Silmaril, our answer is the same as last time," said Elwing. "I do not see what there is to discuss. I agreed to this meeting only because my son asked me to. Say what you have to say and be gone, empty-handed as you came."

"We do not ask you to give us the Silmaril," said Maglor. "We merely ask you to let my brother hold it for a short while. That, we believe, will satisfy our oath."

"Only for a moment, you say?" said Eärendil.

"Only for a moment," said Maglor. "I beg you. Help us end this damned oath that has caused so much suffering. Please." It was not a very eloquent plea, but there was no mistaking the urgency in his voice.

"I will leave this decision to my wife," said Eärendil. "The jewel belonged to her family, not mine."

"And why should I give it to you?" said Elwing. "Tell me! After all you have done, all the pain you have caused... every time I had something good, you ruined it! You destroyed Doriath! You destroyed Sirion! You took everything from me - my family and my friends and my people and my _children. _Why should I give the Silmaril to you?" Her voice had become shrill, and red roses had appeared on her cheeks.

"Because it will cause me unbearable pain," said Maedhros flatly, "and I will hold it in my hand for as long or short as you like."

Elwing stared at him. Then she nodded, hesitantly. Her husband rose and left the room through another door, only to appear a few seconds later with the Silmaril in his hand.

It was beautiful. Golden light and silver lived in it, twirling around each other; it was like the pattern of sunshine and shadow created by the forest leaves, except that instead of shadow there was only more light. It was like the glitter of waves, except that the stone was not reflecting the sunlight, but sending out a light of its own, older than both the moon and the sun. It was like the sparkling stars, except that instead of being spread out like snow across the sky it was all condensed into this brilliant jewel. It was glorious beyond description. And Eärendil handed it over to Maedhros.

As soon as the jewel touched Maedhros' hand, its light became fiercer. It was no longer glittering playfully; now it shone like a fell fire, illuminating the pale face of the elf that held it. Maedhros gasped and closed his hand around the Silmaril, but this did not diminish its light; instead it grew redder, now looking more like torchlight than starlight. Maedhros' face distorted with pain, but he still clasped the jewel. Then he fell down on his knees and screamed in agony.

"Stop!" screamed Elwing. "Drop it! Please! I - I didn't mean to..."

Maedhros opened his hand and the Silmaril fell down on the floor. At once its appearance changed; it shone softly again, and it was almost impossible to believe that it was capable of causing harm. Eärendil picked it up, and Maglor helped his brother get back on his feet.

"You should let Elrond take a look at it," he said.

"I'm sorry," said Elwing hysterically. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," said Maglor, as Eärendil led Maedhros through the door.

Elwing was crying.

"I didn't want him to get hurt," she said. "I thought I did, but I didn't. It was awful -"

"It was necessary," said Maglor. "It was worth it. Now we are free."

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I was just so _angry_..."

"Perfectly understandable," said Maglor. "One might even say justified. Please, do not blame yourself. You have helped us."

"But I _hurt_ him," said Elwing, sobbing uncontrollably. "I hated you and I wanted to hurt you and I couldn't - his scream - I couldn't stand it - I never wanted to hurt anyone, I was just so angry at you - I hated you and hated you and now -"

"Shh," said Maglor gently. "It's over. He will be fine."

The door opened. Eärendil was back.

"Elwing?" he said, looking at his crying wife.

"Take care of her," said Maglor. "Where is my brother?"

"Downstairs," said Eärendil. "Elrond is tending to him; he will be fine."

"Told you so," said Maglor, smiling at Elwing. "Farewell, then."

"Wait," said Elwing. Her voice sounded helpless, somehow, like a frightened little girl. "Will you... can you ask your brother to forgive me?"

Maglor stared at the woman in front of him. They had killed her family and slaughtered her people and destroyed her city, and she was asking them for forgiveness?

"There is nothing to forgive," he said.

"Please," said Elwing. Maglor sighed.

"Whatever wrongs you may have done us I forgive, and in this I speak for my brother as well." He hesitated. "Can you forgive _us_?"

"Yes," said Elwing. "Yes. I forgive you."


	9. Blood Tears

**Chapter 8: Blood Tears**

_In which we find out what Fëanor was doing in the forge._

* * *

><p>It was raining when Maedhros and Maglor arrived at Formenos. Maglor had offered Elrond to stay there over the night, but he had politely declined, saying that he had business to attend to back home. I secretly suspect that this was a lie, though if it was I can't really blame him for it. It's not exactly strange to prefer to eat good food together with your family and sleep in your own bed, instead of eating a haphazard meal together with a bunch of unknown people who incidentally killed quite a few of your relatives.<p>

The bad weather didn't seem to have dampened the spirits of the twins, who rushed out to meet them.

"It worked!" said Amrod. "We could all feel it when it happened. It really worked. The oath is gone!"

"Yes," said Maedhros. "We're free."

"How is your hand?" said Amras, with a concerned glance at the bandaged lump at the end of Maedhros' right arm.

"Still attached," said Maedhros drily.

"Elrond says he will heal completely," said Maglor. "Have you found out what Father is doing yet?"

The twins exchanged a look.

"He's gone," said Amras.

"He's gone?" Maedhros looked alarmed. "Where did he go?"

"I expect we will find out soon," said Amras darkly.

"He said that he was going out, and that he might be a while," said Amrod. "Just after the oath was fulfilled. We haven't seen him since."

* * *

><p>Fëanor's entrance into Tirion was not very dramatic. Few, if any, people saw him coming through the gate, and he did not stop to proclaim his return. However, as he strode through the city whispers of his arrival started spreading out in ripples around him, until the damp streets were filled with silent spectators. Fëanor himself appeared not to notice them. He merely marched on until he reached his goal, a large white house in the central city. He knocked on the door. A few moments later it was opened by a red-headed elf-woman. She stared at him.<p>

"Elen síla lumenn' omentielvo," said Fëanor. "May I come in, Nerdanel?"

Nerdanel closed the door behind her husband. She turned to face him, with crossed arms and a calm but hostile look on her face.

"What do you want?"

"Is Indis here?" said Fëanor.

"No, she is visiting her family in Valmar," said Nerdanel.

"And she won't come back today?" said Fëanor.

"No," said Nerdanel coldly. "Why do you ask?"

"Because this is bloody embarrassing and I don't want anyone to walk in on us, especially not Indis," said Fëanor. "Could you lock the door?"

Nerdanel stared at him, then shrugged and did as he said.

"Good," said Fëanor. He fell down on his knees and took a deep breath. "Nerdanel, you were right, and I was wrong, and I should never have stopped listening to you."

Nerdanel's disapproving expression was replaced by one of complete and utter surprise.

"I am deeply sorry for all the pain I have caused you," continued Fëanor, "and I ask you to forgive me."

"You are _apologizing_?" said Nerdanel, sounding as though she couldn't believe her own ears.

"Yes," said Fëanor. "I... I made you a necklace, look..."

He pulled something out of a small leather purse and handed it over to Nerdanel. She held it up. Three large jewels were set in a network of intertwining gold and silver threads. The first was a glowing red-orange, the second shifted in blue and green and the third shone with a brilliant silver light. She frowned.

"What are these?" she said. "I have never seen anything like them before. Not that that should surprise me, considering who made this."

"Can't you guess?" said Fëanor.

Nerdanel examined the stones closer. She turned the necklace over in her hands again and again, held it up against the light, looked at it so closely that the jewels almost touched her eyes and then held it at a distance and moved it to see how the gems caught the light.

"This one," she said, pointing at the blue stone, "it's water, isn't it?"

Fëanor smiled.

"Yes, of course. And the others?"

Nerdanel hesitated. She touched the red stone lightly.

"I would say this one is fire," she said, "but I don't see how you could trap it."

"It is fire," said Fëanor. Nerdanel looked interested.

"But how? I thought you needed a liquid..."

"I found a liquid to dissolve it in," said Fëanor, "and after that it was not much harder than the usual process."

"What liquid?" said Nerdanel. "No, wait, don't tell me."

Fëanor remained quiet and looked at his wife. She looked equally fascinated and frustrated. A few locks of muddy copper hair had escaped from behind her ears and fallen into her face. She was staring at the necklace intensively, as if trying to scare it into giving up its secrets.

Suddenly she smiled.

"Blood," she said. "Your own blood. Impressive."

"Correct as always," said Fëanor, smiling too. "Now tell me what the last one is."

"That one is easy," said Nerdanel. "The light of Eärendil. Trapped in water... no, wait. It's tears, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Fëanor. "I could have used water, of course, but I think this will last better. Well done."

"Fire, water and the light of Eärendil..." said Nerdanel thoughtfully. "The sea, the sky and the centre of the earth?"

Fëanor nodded.

"The final resting places of the Silmarils," said Nerdanel.

"Yes," said Fëanor. "I thought it would be symbolic. To show that I mean to let them remain there."

Nerdanel's eyes widened.

"Fëanáro," she said, "if you are back... does that mean that my sons..."

"...are back too?" said Fëanor. "Yes. Telufinwë wanted to go to you at once, but I made him wait. I wanted to talk to you first. Will you come with me?"

"Where?" said Nerdanel.

"To Formenos," said Fëanor. "All our sons are there, too. Well, they should be by now; Nelyo and Káno went to meet Eärendil -"

Nerdanel looked alarmed.

"Curufinwë Fëanáro, if you have sent any of my children to attack Eärendil -"

"To _talk_ to him," said Fëanor. "To persuade him to let one of them hold the Silmaril for a moment, so our oath could be fulfilled. And it worked. We're not bound by the oath anymore."

"And you're sure they didn't kill anyone?" said Nerdanel. "Or tried to?"

Fëanor sighed.

"Really, Nerdanel, do you have such a low opinion of us? There was no need to kill anyone. There won't ever be, now."

"There never _was_," said Nerdanel. "Boats!"

"Yes, in hindsight, that might have been a mistake," said Fëanor.

"You mean that you did not expect them to fight back."

"Was that a question or a statement?"

"Was that a clumsy attempt to avoid admitting it was true?"

Fëanor threw back his head and laughed.

"I've missed you, Nerdanel," he said tenderly. "Goodness, how I missed you."

Although Nerdanel didn't join in his laughing, a reluctant smile appeared on her face as she looked down on her husband.

"How ridiculous we must look," she said. "Do you intend to stay on your knees all day?"

"No, only until you give me an answer," said Fëanor.

"You can't just turn up after all this time with a pretty gift and expect me to forgive you."

"Why not?" said Fëanor. "What else can I do?"

Nerdanel appeared to consider this statement for a few seconds. Then she shook her head.

"I suppose that's true," she said. "I certainly never thought I would see you apologizing."

"Neither did I," said Fëanor. "Believe me, I would have avoided it if I could."

"You could have."

"At too high a price." Fëanor looked up at his wife, with an expression that simply didn't seem to belong on his proud face. "Nerdanel, we belong together. Come back to me. _Please_."

Nerdanel hesitated, then grabbed her husband's hand and pulled him onto his feet.

"Yes," she said.

* * *

><p>Finarfin, High King of the Noldor, knocked at the same door his half-brother had knocked on earlier. It was once again opened, this time by Fëanor. For some reason, the sight of his kinslaying relative appeared to make the king somewhat worried.<p>

"Where is Nerdanel?" he said.

"She's busy packing," said Fëanor. This didn't seem to relieve Finarfin at all.

"She's... busy... packing?"

Fëanor sighed.

"I thought I had managed to express it simple enough for you to understand," he said. "Do you want me to repeat it again?"

There was a clang from inside the house, followed by several more. A bunch of metal instruments came tumbling down the stairs behind Fëanor and landed on the floor.

"Oh bother," said Nerdanel's voice, coming from upstairs. "Pick those up and find a bag for them, will you?"

Fëanor turned his back towards his half-brother and picked up a hammer.

"Do you really need all these?" he said. "There's a limit to what we can carry and there are plenty of tools at Formenos."

"You know I prefer my own," said Nerdanel, appearing at the top of the stairs. "Oh, hello, Arafinwë."

Finarfin looked at the scene in front of him. His sister-in-law was on her way down the stairs, with her red hair in a messy bun and her clothes dusty and disarrayed. Her long-dead husband was busy picking up the tools that were scattered all over the floor. There was a heap of packs and saddlebags on a table just to the right of the door.

"What," said Finarfin slowly, "are you doing?"

"Pack-ing," said Fëanor, "it's two syllables, honestly, even you should have managed to understand it by now."

"Don't be rude, Fëanáro," said Nerdanel, and turned to Finarfin. "I'm moving. Give my regards to your mother when she returns."

"Moving?" said Finarfin. "Am I to understand that you and your husband have reconciled?"

"Yes."

"And you are not planning to stay in Tirion?"

"I'm not going to steal your crown, if that's what you are worried about," said Fëanor. "They made sure to make me promise to respect your kingship. And I am not known for breaking my word."

Finarfin's eyes narrowed. He turned to Nerdanel.

"If you would be so kind as to remind your husband that he was banished from Tirion -"

"For twelve years!" said Fëanor. "And that was aeons ago!"

"- and right now I am tempted to make the ban permanent. There are quite a few people here who have not forgiven him for Losgar, among them my brother. I do not want to see blood spilled on the streets. We have had peace since the War of Wrath, and I would prefer to avoid a civil war, if possible."

"We don't want to cause trouble either, Arafinwë," said Nerdanel. "We will stay away for as long as you deem necessary."

Fëanor picked up the last pair of pliers and got back up on his feet. He threw down the bag of tools on the table, together with the others. There were quite a lot of them. He frowned.

"We will need horses, if you are going to bring all this," he said to Nerdanel.

"It will be dark soon anyway," said Nerdanel with a glance at the window. "Why don't you stay here over the night, and we'll ride at first light tomorrow. Is that acceptable to you, Arafinwë?"

Finarfin nodded. He opened the door as if to leave, then hesitated.

"Are you sure this is a wise idea, Nerdanel?"

"Not at all," said Nerdanel cheerfully. "It is quite possibly a bad desicion, but it's mine to make. And I have already made it."

With a sigh, the king closed the door behind him.


	10. Lammoth

**Chapter 9: Lammoth**

_In which the author takes a break from the story to unveil her new plan to defeat her alter ego._

* * *

><p>Listen, everybody, this story has gotten out of hand. I admit it. It was supposed to be a silly tale about Fëanor escaping from Mandos and doing awesome Fëanor-y things like killing Balrogs and inventing new alphabets and building impossibly cool stuff. All my favourite and unfavourite Tolkien characters would make appearances. That's why I thought I might just as well put myself in it, too.<p>

Well, I was wrong, and I've learnt my lesson: _writing author avatars is fucking dangerous, pardon my Dwarvish. _

In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. I should have realized that my instinctive dislike of authority would lead to this. I know Erwen claims she's doing this for revenge, but she's lying. Well, no, she does want revenge, but she's not telling the whole truth. She would have rebelled anyway, trust me.

If all I was fighting was a mirror image of myself, it wouldn't be too bad. Theoretically, that should give me a 50-50 chance of winning, no? But she's got plenty of Noldorin princes on her side, including the migtiest elf that ever lived. How on earth am I going to fight against Fëanor? I don't have a single Balrog. If anyone has got any spare Balrogs, PLEASE SEND THEM TO ME ASAP. I may need them in case my plan doesn't work.

Yes, that's right, I've thought of a plan. Is this the point where I should laugh maniacally? No, that's only for evil masterminds, and I am not evil. Wait, scratch that - I just asked people to send me their spare Balrogs, that probably classifies me as evil. And now that we sorted that out, let me tell you about my plan, because I am apparently an evil mastermind and that's what evil masterminds do. I suppose I should have tied you to the chair and placed it over a vat of boiling sharks or something, but I'm afraid I haven't perfected my reach-through-the-computer-and-strap-people-to-chairs-over-vats-of-boiling-sharks-and-also-steal-their-cookies-device. You'll just have to imagine it.

Here's the plan: _I am going to turn Erwen into a Mary Sue._

It's genious. Mary Sues turn the other characters into complete idiots, unable to do anything but stare at the Sue in admiration. This way, I won't have to fight anyone but myself, and that should be relatively easy. But I still want you to send me your Balrogs! There's no enemy so easy to defeat that a couple of Balrogs can't make it even easier. If anyone has any leftover orcs, nazgûl, chocolate or mûmakil I would be happy to accept those as well.

You've got to help me! You're a writer too, aren't you? How would you feel if your characters started getting out of your control and decided to attack you? Yes, yes, I know what you will say: I should have been stricter, I shouldn't have given them everything they wanted, I should have disciplined them from the beginning - but believe me, I did it all because I thought it was for the best. And now I'm trying to avoid facing the consequences. Help me! Balrogs!

Ahem. Back to my evil plan. The rest of this chapter will be all about Erwen. Here we go:

From the moment she opened her brilliant blue-grey eyes, Erwen knew that this was going to be a beautiful day. It had rained during the night, and when she opened the window the air had the fresh smell that comes after rain. It was that golden morning hour when the sun balances on the horizon, the birds sing and the air is chilly - but not unpleasantly so - and the sky is like a watercolour painting of pastel colours and the world feels empty but at the same time so incredibly _hopeful,_ and holy run-on sentence, Batman.

Erwen brushed her flowing golden hair in front of the mirror. Even though it has not been previously mentioned in the narrative, there totally was a mirror in her room all along. Because how else would I get to throw in a ridiculously elaborate description of her? So, she was brushing her hair, right, and looking at herself in the mirror, and this is what she saw:

She was about average height, with a body that was slightly more hourglassy than the normal slender elvish one. Her hair was long, wavy and golden as the light of Laurelin. It was definitely her most beautiful feature, and she was secretly proud of it, even though she personally thought dark hair was prettier. Her eyes were blue-grey, and slightly smaller than average; she had long eyelashes, but they were not very visible since they were light brown. Her nose was straight, except for an ever so slight tilt upwards at the end. She had pale skin, nice cheekbones and a stubborn chin. Her mouth was small and pink and... it's a mouth, it's located under her nose and you all know what a mouth looks like! Damn, I'm not very good at this, am I? I didn't use the word 'lavender' once.

Having finished looking at herself in the mirror, Erwen went to the kitchen and made a delicious breakfast. She was just taking the bread out of the oven when Maedhros walked into the kitchen.

"That smells delicious, Erwen," he said, smiling at her.

"How kind of you to say so," said Erwen modestly. "I made sure to make enough for everybody."

"Very considerate of you," said Maedhros. "I am sure my brothers will appear at any moment, attracted by the delicious smell of your delicious bread."

And indeed, just when he said that Amrod and Amras entered the room.

"What is that delicious smell?" said Amrod.

"Erwen made some bread," said Maedhros. "Here, have some. It's delicious."

The three redheads sat down at the table and started gulping down bread and whatever else elves eat for breakfast. Erwen joined them. Suddenly, the door opened and Caranthir stormed in.

"What is it that smells so delicious and why haven't I got any?" he asked.

"Hush now, there's enough for everyone," said Erwen.

Mumbling, Caranthir sat down and stuffed his mouth full of delicious bread. One by one, the other sons of Fëanor dropped in and joined them and the table.

"That was delicious, Erwen," said Maglor when they had finished. (What do you mean, it isn't funny anymore? It was never funny in the first place.)

"Thank you," said Erwen modestly. "Well, if you are all finished I will do the washing up."

"And then I'll give you another swordfighting lesson," said Caranthir.

"If you insist," sighed Erwen.

"Oh, I do," said Caranthir, grinning maliciuosly. "Beating you up is one of the few pleasures I have left."

"Honestly, Carnistir, sometimes you go to far," said Maedhros. "Erwen, you don't have to do it."

"I'll do it," said Erwen, smiling bravely, although she could not hide her distress. Why was Caranthir always picking on her?

Because she deserves it. Yes she does, precious. I thought she was annoying before she was a Sue, but now... yikes. I don't know how long I can keep this up.

Erwen walked slowly and hesitantly towards the open place where they usually practiced swordfighting. Images of her previous so-called lessons with Caranthir flashed through her head. _"Too slow!" he announced gleefully as he brought down his blunt sword on her arm, giving her yet another bruise. "Keep your guard up!" he shouted as he slinked past her defenses and stabbed her in the chest, hard enough that she would have died if they had been using real swords. "Or do you want to die in your first battle?" _Erwen's eyes filled up with unbidden tears. It was so unfair. He was always complaining, and she had done nothing to deserve it.

"Erwen?" said a voice. She looked up. It was Maedhros. His normally stern eyes were full of concern. "Are you okay?" he said.

"I'm fine," said Erwen, blinking to hold back the tears.

"No. No, you're not," sighed Maedhros. "Erwen, Carnistir is my brother, but even so I have to admit that he's not a nice person. He's always picking on you and you have done nothing to deserve it. I will go and tell him to stop harassing you."

"Oh no, you mustn't!" said Erwen. "I don't want your brother to be angry at you for my sake."

"You are so unselfish," said Maedhros admiringly. "But I still think..."

"No!" said Erwen. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

"As you wish," said Maedhros reluctantly. "But at least promise me you will let me take a look at you afterwards; I am quite a good healer."

Well, no, he isn't. Hello, New Powers as the Plot Demands. Goodness, how low am I going to sink? Maybe I should just let her kill me before this turns into a Maedhros/Erwen hurt/comfort ship.

"Ready?" said Caranthir, raising his sword.

"One moment," said Erwen weakly. She was starting to wish she had let Maedhros talk to Caranthir instead.

"Try saying that in battle and see how it works out for you," said Caranthir. "Orcs don't wait."

Suddenly Erwen was filled with anger. She could not let it continue like this. She would have to teach Caranthir a lesson. Suddenly she felt strong - no, more than strong - invincible. She _was_ going to beat Caranthir, no matter what.

Woo, God Mode Sue Syndrome! I can't believe I'm writing this. Someone pour me a drink. I feel sick.

"Ready!" said Erwen defiantly. Caranthir did not bother to answer; he just attacked. Erwen jumped out of reach and then swiftly countered. She hit Caranthir's sword and it flew out of his grip, hitting the ground a few feet away with an extremely satisfying clink.

Could this be the worst-written fencing scene ever? Thank goodness it's also the shortest.

"You... you..." said Caranthir, at a loss for words. Erwen smiled and pushed a few golden locks out of her face.

"You underestimated her, Carnistir," said Maedhros, who had turned up for no particular reason except to express his admiration for Erwen. "You were determined to see her as a failure, so you didn't notice her talent. Which, incidentally, is not just limited to fighting. You owe her an apology."

"You're right," said Caranthir. "I'm sorry, Erwen. You deserve my respect."

"Of course I forgive you, Carnistir," said Erwen sweetly. "But you really should stop being so grumpy. People will think you don't care about them, even if you do. For example, when was the last time you gave Maitimo a hug?"

Caranthir frowned.

"When he returned from Angband, maybe," he said. "You're right. Come here, Russandol." He embraced his big brother, who smiled happily. And so Erwen managed to bring the brothers closer instead of causing a rift between them.

"Well, I can see you have lots to talk about," said Erwen, "so if you will excuse me, I'm going to my room."

"You do that," said Maedhros, with a blink that clearly meant ''I'll join you when I've finished talking to Caranthir'.

Erwen stormed into her room, still holding the sword in her hand, and positioned herself in front of the mirror.

Wait, what? There's no need for her to look at herself in the mirror again. What's happening?

"What's happening is that I'm sick and tired of this nonsense," she said, waving her sword menacingly. "Now listen."

I'm not going to listen to you! You're a fictional character! In my story!

"As if you don't spend most of your time talking to people in your head already," said Erwen. "Listen. I know you are desperate, but this is wrong. Just wrong. So stop it."

Why should I? I admit it's painful to write this dravel, but I have to stop you somehow! Nobody's sent me any Balrogs!

"You can't stop me," said Erwen. "But if you stop your disgusting attempts to turn me into a Mary Sue, I will be merciful. I'll give you a clean death."

Nice try, but you should know better. Would you trust me if I gave you that offer? Of course not. You know us. We cheat. Besides, if I'm going to die anyway, I might just as well get tortured first. You know we don't fear pain.

Erwen's eyes narrowed.

"Very well," she said. "Then here's what I'll do. I won't kill you. Instead I will dress up like you and go out there and make a fool of you in as many ways as I possibly can. And then I'll leave you to deal with the concequences."

You wouldn't.

"Yes, I would. You know us. We're not merciful. And what you're doing now is worse than Angband and worse than Helcaraxë and worse than anything you've put me through before. _You are meddling with my mind._ And the minds of poor Maitimo and Carnistir too."

Okay, okay, I'll stop.

"Good. Now here's what you'll do. You'll end this chapter with me waking up and realizing all this was a dream."

You have to be kidding. That's such an awful device.

"This entire chapter has been awful. Now write it."

Right.

Erwen woke up. It took a few seconds for her to realize where she was, but then she remembered. At Formenos. Right. She looked around her room, and to her great relief she saw that there was no mirror in there. It had been a dream. Just a dream.


	11. Into the Storm

**Chapter 10: Into the Storm**

_In which the author regrets her desision to write these silly little summaries, since she can't think of anything witty to put in this one. Also, unbreakable oaths: don't try those at home._

* * *

><p>The mood at the breakfast table at Formenos was somewhat tense. Everyone kept glancing towards the empty seat at the head of the table.<p>

"And he didn't mention anything about where he was going?" said Maedhros.

"We've told you a hundred times," said Celegorm. "No. He didn't."

"Not even to you, Curvo?"

Curufin shook his head.

"No. Neither do I know what he was working on before he left, but whatever it was, he must have taken it with him."

Silence fell again.

"Well, I am not going to wait for him to come back," said Amras sullenly. "I am going to visit mother. I only promised to stay away from Tirion until we had fulfilled the oath..."

Maglor dropped his knife.

"Oh, no," he said. "He can't have gone to Tirion, can he?"

The silence around the breakfast table changed character from uneasy to alarmed.

"He promised not to claim the crown," said Amrod, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself that things were going to be okay.

"I can think of plenty of ways to get around that," said Curufin.

"Of course you can," said Maglor sourly.

Everyone looked at Maedhros, who was tapping the table with his fingers and staring at the opposite wall.

"If he is in trouble, we ought to get him out of it," he said finally. "We might as well all go to Tirion, if Attarussa is going. There is no point in trying to sneak in; we would be recognized anyway."

"I'll stay here, thanks," said Erwen, and seeing the suspicious look Celegorm gave her, she added, "I would just get in your way, you know that. I promise I won't touch anything. But I am not going to Tirion."

"Leave her," said Maedhros. "I don't think she can do much harm here. Not compared to what father can cause in Tirion, at any rate."

* * *

><p>"This is ridiculous," said Fëanor. "Two of the most talented blacksmiths in Arda delayed because their horse threw a shoe."<p>

"It is somewhat ironic, I must admit," said Nerdanel. She retracted her hand from the bag she had been searching in and emptied its contents on the table.

"If only you hadn't packed all your tools," said Fëanor.

"If only you had remembered where you packed them..." said Nerdanel. "Not here either. Fetch the other one, I'll repack this."

* * *

><p>The white city of Tirion towered in front of the sons of Fëanor.<p>

"Now, before we enter," said Maedhros, "I want to make one thing clear. No one is to kill anyone, set fire to anything, insult people, kidnap princesses, attempt to usurp thrones or in any other way start trouble. Do I make myself clear?"

"Abundantly so," said Curufin.

"But what if we are attacked?" said Caranthir. "Are we not allowed to defend ourselves?

"Of course you can defend yourself," said Maedhros, "but you are not to draw your sword unless they do it first. And don't respond harshly to anyone, no matter what they say to you."

As they started climbing the green hill, Maglor pulled his older brother a bit aside.

"Are you sure it was a good idea to bring Tyelko and Curvo and Carnistir?" he whispered.

"Well, no," said Maedhros, "but I thought it might be easier to bring father with us if we all came. Besides, I'm sure they would have managed to cause trouble anyway. Better keep them with us so we can keep an eye on them."

Of course, expecting Caranthir to keep his temper under control was probably a bit too optimistic. Still, it might have worked if they had not run into Angrod. Things went rapidly downhill from there.

When Fëanor and Nerdanel finally led their heavily-loaded horses onto the streets of Tirion, they walked right into the argument. By then it had escalated to epic proportions, and it was a wonder that nobody had killed anyone yet. Orodreth was screaming at a deadly calm Curufin, Maedhros was trying to drag Caranthir away from Angrod, and Turgon seemed to be shouting at every Fëanorion at once, while at the same time having a three-way argument with Aredhel and Celegorm - but they only managed to catch a glimpse of it all before Fingolfin spotted Fëanor, shouted "YOU!" and rushed at him.

There is no telling how it might have ended if Finarfin and Finrod hadn't appeared with an improvised peacekeeping force. Within a few moments the descendants of Finwë had been separated from each other and lined up in front of Finarfin, who looked at them sternly.

"Don't blame me," said Fëanor. "I don't even know how this started; I have been shoeing a horse all morning."

"It's true," said Nerdanel. "This time he didn't start any trouble."

"He _is_ trouble," said Finarfin, sounding tired. "What on earth made you all act like this? Who started this quarrel?"

"He did!" said Caranthir and Angrod in chorus, pointing at each other.

Finarfin sighed.

"I am not even going to try to sort this out," he said. "I can hardly be considered impartial in this case, so I am sending you all to Námo to let him judge you. I wish him good luck. Findaráto, escort them."

* * *

><p>Námo listened in silence as Finrod explained why his father had sent them there.<p>

"I protest," said Fëanor.

The dark Vala gave him a Look. It was the look of someone who has unending patience but is nevertheless starting to run out of it.

"Against what?" said Finrod wearily. "He has not said anything yet!"

"Against this whole trial," said Fëanor. "If my half-brother had a sense of humour, I would have thought that sending us here was his idea of a joke. Námo is no impartial judge. It is common knowledge that the Valar have a grudge against me and mine."

"Oh for goodness' sake," said Argon, "not everyone is out to get you."

"In that case, why is it that I cannot pay a short visit to my wife without getting attacked?"

"Your sons started it!" said Angrod. "They always do!"

"Our past offenses are irrelevant," said Curufin. "We are here to discuss the matter at hand."

"Which I had no part in, until my half-brother attacked me," said Fëanor.

Fingolfin opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Námo started talking.

"Since you are still determined to fight each other, I will let you do so," he said. His voice sounded hollow, and somehow a bit different than usual. "Tomorrow at dawn you shall all come to the field outside the Ring of Doom. An impartial judge will be found, and the quarrel between the two branches of the house of Finwë shall be settled once and for all. Until then, depart."

* * *

><p>Fëanor and his family were riding towards Formenos in silence. They didn't seem to have recuperated from the shock yet.<p>

"Well, I certainly never expected him to say that," said Amrod.

"No, it seemed most unlike him," said Nerdanel.

"I suppose one could see it as a natural extension of the Valar's policy of avoiding doing anything," said Curufin, apparently speaking to thin air. He had avoided looking at his mother ever since they met her.

"That doesn't seem like a sufficient explanation," said Maedhros, "but I have to admit I can't think of a better one."

The forest was thinning out around them. They could see Formenos now, the big house looking somewhat gloomy under the cloudy sky. The front door opened and a golden-haired woman appeared in it. Nerdanel frowned.

"Fëanáro," she said, "who is that?"

"Oh, yes," said Fëanor, "about that..."

* * *

><p>Nerdanel was not amused. She listened attentively to her husband's explanation, which was occasionally interrupted by their sons or by Erwen, wanting to add some detail or confirm Fëanor's story. When he had finished, she shook her head.<p>

"This is madness," she said.

"It is the truth," said Fëanor.

"I cannot believe it," said Nerdanel. "And if it is the truth, what are you going to do about it?"

"Rebel against the author," said Fëanor casually, as if it was the only natural thing to do under the circumstances. Which it was, of course, at least for him.

"Do I have to remind you have your last rebellion ended?" said Nerdanel.

"No, I remember it perfectly," said Fëanor. "That is no reason to assume this one will end the same way. Rather, we will be able to use our experience from last time to avoid making the same mistakes again."

Nerdanel sighed.

"Of course, if one of us does not want to be here, he or _she_ is perfectly free to leave," said Curufin loudly.

"Atarinkë," said Nerdanel, "whatever you may think, I had nothing to do with your wife's decision. Please stop blaming me for it."

"I was merely saying that none of us are forced to remain here."

"There was no conspiracy among us," said Nerdanel patiently. "Each one made her choice separately. That we happened to make the same decision only significates that we had more common sense than you."

"If you call abandoning your children common sense," said Curufin.

"I think that the question of who abandoned whom is a matter of debate," said Nerdanel. "At any rate, you were hardly children at the time -"

"My son was," said Curufin.

His mother remained quiet for a short while. Then she said, "I am not going to comment your wife's decision. That is between the two of you, and if you want to talk about it you will have to discuss it with her."

"Actually, I think I would prefer not to," said Curufin icily.

"Enough," said Fëanor. "So, Nerdanel, what do you say?"

Nerdanel still didn't look entirely convinced.

"Are you sure that this is necessary?" she said.

"_Yes,_" said Erwen. "Look, she's basically me, except human. Would you really trust me to be in charge of the world? I wouldn't."

"But how is she in charge of the world?" said Nerdanel. "What can she do?"

"Meddle," said Erwen. "Like she did with Námo today."

"Wait," said Maglor, "we never told you we were sent to Námo. How can you know?"

"Because she wrote about it," said Erwen. "Anyway, there's an example for you. She influenced Námo's judgement. Otherwise he would never have made the decision to let you fight."

"So that's what happened," said Maedhros. "I did think it was strange."

"She's not particularly subtle, is she?" said Curufin.

"She wouldn't know subtlety if it hit her in the face with a sledgehammer," said Erwen bitterly.

"There's one thing I don't understand," said Celegorm. "What's stopping her from meddling with us in the same way?"

"She tried to, but I talked her out of it," said Erwen.

"But she's writing down everything we do?" said Amras.

"Not everything," said Erwen, "but the important bits. She's writing down what we're saying right now, for example."

"So she knows everything we're doing," said Amras. "Won't she simply abandon the story when we become a threat to her?"

"Oh, no, she can't," said Erwen, "she swore an unbreakable oath to never leave a story unfinished..."

She stopped talking. Everyone was staring at her.

"An unbreakable oath," said Maglor flatly.

"Yes," said Erwen. "By Manwë and Varda and Eru Ilúvatar. That makes it unbreakable, right?"

"You never told us that," said Amrod.

"I must have forgotten it," said Erwen. "She put it in her profile. Was it important?"

"So in summary," said Maedhros, "the world is in the hands of a human girl under an unbreakable oath, and furthermore a girl who is identical to a person who forgets to mention that an unbreakable oath is involved and then asks whether it was important?"

Fëanor, his wife and his sons looked at each other.

"We must stop her," said Nerdanel.


	12. The Dark Elf

**Chapter 11: The Dark Elf**

_In which a character from the Lord of the Rings makes an appearance, Erwen behaves even stranger than usual and the author throws in an extra Blind Guardian song title for free._

* * *

><p>When the descendants of Finwë - split into two groups carefully keeping their distance to each other - arrived at the field the next morning, they were surprised to see that neither Manwë nor Mandos nor any other Vala was there. The only person in sight was an elf-maiden, small and lithe with dark hair.<p>

"Who are you?" said Fëanor.

"Do excuse my brother," said Fingolfin, in a tone that suggested that excusing Fëanor was the last thing any sane person would do. "He was never very tactful. We were summoned here to - ah - sort out our differences... we expected to find someone here to judge..."

"I don't speak your language," said the elf in Sindarin.

"Oh," said Caranthir, now speaking Sindarin as well, "a dark elf. What is she doing here?"

"I am going to be your judge," said the elf, "and I am no more pleased about it than you are, so let us get it over with."

"Nimrodel?" said Galadriel. "What did you do that made the Valar punish you with this assignment?"

"I have done nothing to offend the Valar," said Nimrodel, "unlike everyone else here."

"You know her?" said Caranthir to Galadriel. "How did you get them to chose one of your Sindarin friends to be judge?"

"We are _not_ friends," said Nimrodel icily. "And I am _not _a Sinda, and don't you dare call me one."

"She is Silvan," said Galadriel.

"Really, cousin?" said Caranthir. "Befriending Avari? You are not planning to marry one as well, I hope?"

Galadriel ignored him and turned to Nimrodel.

"You never answered my question."

"They had trouble finding an impartial judge. It was hard to find anyone in Valinor who did not intensely dislike Fëanor."

Celegorm laughed. "Are you telling me that you do not hate us? I find that hard to believe. If looks could kill we would all be back in Mandos now."

"Where you belong," muttered Turgon.

"I dislike all Noldor equally," said Nimrodel. "And Sindar. So they chose me, against my will, and now let us hurry up and get this done. You are to fight each other in single combat, one by one. Until first blood, and no killing or maiming each other, do you barbarians understand that? The descendants of Indis will get to choose their opponents, since the Valar seem to think that they are marginally more innocent."

"I will fight Fëanor," said Fingolfin quickly.

Galadriel looked furious.

"_I_ wanted to fight Fëanor," she said. "It was _my_ kin he killed at Alqualondë."

"Yes, and unless I am mistaken, you had the chance to fight him there," said Fingolfin, "whereas I have not been so lucky. _I_ will fight Fëanor. That is not negotiable. You can pick any one of his sons."

"Any one except Caranthir," said Angrod. "I believe we have unfinished business."

"Anyone except Celegorm," said Turgon. "I have not forgiven him for not taking better care of my sister."

"Says the one who sent her into Nan Dungortheb with just a handful of guards, and incompetent ones to boost," said Celegorm.

"They were perfectly capable and she was not supposed to go that way, she was supposed to go visit Fingon, if it hadn't been for you she would never have done such an idiotic thing - "

"How exactly is it my fault? You should have taken better care of her yourself!"

"Excuse me," said Aredhel, "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and I do not appreciate being talked about as if I was not here. And I want to fight Celegorm myself, Turgon. You can fight Curufin instead."

"But - "

"You can fight Curufin," repeated Aredhel. "Celegorm is mine."

"Oh very well then," said Turgon. "He is just about equally guilty, anyway."

"I do not see what I am guilty of," said Curufin, "unless you are saying that I should have killed Eöl when I had the chance? I did not know you approved of murder."

"If anyone here approves of murder, it is _you_," said Orodreth. "And, speaking of that, I think that Finrod has the right to fight Curufin or Celegorm, since they tried to steal his kingdom and get him killed."

"I have forgiven them for what they did," said Finrod. "And... well, I promised Amarië that I would not get involved in any more fighting."

"I would prefer not to fight either," said Maglor, "I have had enough of that. How about a musical duel, Finrod? I heard you almost beat Sauron."

"Right, then we have Fingolfin against Fëanor, Angrod against Caranthir, Aredhel against Celegorm, Turgon against Curufin and Finrod against Maglor," said Nimrodel. "We are making progress despite all the arguing."

"We're not arguing," said Maedhros. "No drawn swords, no death threats, no dramatic storming out - this is barely even a discussion."

"Noldor," muttered Nimrodel. "You are hopeless."

Maedhros managed to put his hand in front of Caranthir's mouth just in time to stop him from saying something scornful about dark elves.

"That leaves Maedhros, Amrod and Amras on one side," said Nimrodel, "and Fingon, Argon and Galadriel on the other."

"What about me?" said Orodreth.

"Only the grandchildren of Finwë qualify," said Nimrodel, "otherwise the numbers would not match up."

"You could go and pick a fight with Celebrimbor," suggested Caranthir.

"He wouldn't dare to," said Curufin. "Orodreth may have many good qualities, but courage and resolve are not among them."

Orodreth looked as if he was about to explode. Then he turned around and stormed away.

"I take it this now qualifies as an argument by Noldorin standards," said Nimrodel. "So, Fingon, whom do you want to fight?"

Galadriel raised her eyebrows.

"I seem to recall I was told that I could pick any one of the sons of Fëanor, and suddenly the worst ones are taken and I will have to do with the last one left?"

"I am still left," said Maedhros.

"That is true," said Galadriel, "but she asked Fingon to choose an opponent, and he will pick you, to spare you from facing me."

Fingon looked guilty.

"He will not," said Maedhros. "He will pick one of the twins. I would rather let you take out three ages of anger on me than on them."

"Will I?" said Fingon. "Oh. Right. I pick one of the twins."

"I choose Maedhros," said Galadriel.

"I will fight Amras," said Argon. "It seems only fair, since we were the ones who died in the beginning of the war and did not have as long to hone our skills as the rest of you."

"Very well," said Nimrodel, "that is settled, then."

"Who will get to fight first?" said Curufin.

Nimrodel looked at him disapprovingly.

"Finrod and Maglor," she said.

The two elves fetched their harps and started tuning them.

"I don't see why you are letting them begin," said Caranthir sullenly, "they don't even want to fight."

"Precisely for that reason," said Nimrodel. "Their duel should be fairly peaceful. I am attempting to put off any actual bloodspill in the hope that Námo might come back to his senses and call off this absurdity."

"Oh, typical dark elf behaviour," said Caranthir, "ignore the problems and hope they will disappear of their own accord."

"_Caranthir,_" said Maedhros warningly.

* * *

><p>A steady rhythm of ringing metal sounds was coming from the forge at Formenos, where Nerdanel was working. Erwen lowered the paper she was reading.<p>

"I wonder if there would be any point in asking her to keep the noise down?" she said aloud to herself. "Probably not."

She resumed reading. Suddenly she dropped the paper and stared at the opposite wall with a frozen expression on her face.

"Oh, no," she said. "No, no, no. Blood and darkness, _no._"

If someone had been watching Erwen, they would have been tempted to conclude that she had lost her mind. It was not that she didn't pick up the fragile old documents and made sure that they hadn't been hurt - although this was highly unusual for her, it is not enough to classify someone as mad. It was more the way she ran through the forest like a hunted animal, seeming not to notice when her hair got snagged on branches or when various stones and thorns risped her bare feet. And of course, a definite clue was that when she reached a brook, she started shouting at it as if she expected it to answer her. That is not on the top ten list of sígns of sanity.

* * *

><p>The singíng began. Finrod sang of young green trees in spring, of wind in the leaves and the laughter of children in the wind. Then Maglor sang of leafless branches breaking in winter storms and children crying of hunger. Finrod sang of starry nights; Maglor sang of horrors hiding in the shadows. Finrod sang of a merry campfire to keep warm; Maglor sang of flames that consumed and destroyed all living things. Finrod sang of water, of still lakes and leaping rivers and the endless beauty of the sea; Maglor sang of icy rain and stormy seas and a great wave that drowned the green lands.<p>

Then Finrod gathered his remaining powers and sang a song about Valinor. He sang of the beauty of the Trees that once were. He sang of green hills, of fair flowers and sweet fruits. He sang of all the beautiful things that the elves had made, of the fair houses they had built, and of the songs and poems they had written. He sang of fires on the hearths and families gathering to share an evening meal in a land where no death and sickness exists.

And Maglor picked up Finrod's tune, and sang of the same beautiful things. But he sang as an outsider, as one that stands outside the window of the eating family, looking in, not able to go in, and without any own home to go to. His voice was filled with the agony of exile, of his long years of walking the shores that had not - could not - become _home_. And in his song the beauty of Valinor faded until it was little more than a dream, a constantly aching memory. The world was strange and dark; the years passed quickly and all familiar things disappeared; forests were cut down and trees turned into firewood and rivers were dammed - and all the time there was the constant pain of longing, but there was no hope of ever going back.

The strings of Finrod's harp broke, and it fell to the ground. Maglor smiled. A strange, bittersweet smile.

"No," he said. "That is not the end."

And he started singing a deceptively simple little tune. It contained all the misery he had sung of earlier, and yet it was not sad. For there was beauty in winter, in the snow and the ice; and there were strange wonders in the shadows; and there was enchantment in the dance of the flames. The cold rain and the stormy waves had their own melodies, and they were beautiful too. And there was beauty in longing, the greatest beauty of all; for dreams are not diminished because they cannot be fulfilled, and love is still love even if it is for something we cannot have.

It was the tune of Arda Marred.

And then there was silence. It was finally broken by Caranthir.

"I refuse to believe that Daeron can do better than that," he said. "He is only a dark elf, after all."

"You are hopeless," said Angrod. "Is it our turn now?"

Nimrodel's expression, which had softened during Maglor's song, became one of disgust.

"Noldor," she muttered.


	13. The Curse of Fëanor

**Chapter 12: The Curse of Fëanor**

_In which Maedhros once again hurts his right hand (what does destiny have against that poor body part?), Finarfin is less mellow than usual, Fëanor is amused and Idril is a secret mastermind._

* * *

><p>"Is it out turn now?" said Caranthir.<p>

"No," said Nimrodel, sounding irritated, "and it won't be until you stop asking about it. Maedhros and Galadriel."

Maedhros picked up his sword with his left hand, moved it to his right for a moment and then moved it back to his left. His cousin was already holding hers. The two elves resumed their positions, facing each other with their swords lifted, waiting for Nimrodel to give them the signal to begin. They made a lovely picture: both tall and proud-looking and exceedingly beautiful, even by elvish standards; one with copper and the other with silver-golden hair. The only thing that disturbed the image somewhat was that they were about to try and spill each other's blood.

"Begin," said Nimrodel.

Galadriel took a step forward, causing Maedhros to back away. Then she lowered her sword.

"No," she said. "This serves no purpose."

Maedhros took a few more steps backwards before his brain registered the words. He stopped, and lowered his sword too.

"What did you just say?"

"I have no reason to fight you," said Galadriel.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I don't think you get to change opponent mid-fight," said Maedhros. "I may not have burned any ships, but there is still Alqualondë and Doriath and Sirion and those poor guards; you can find plenty of reasons, just pick one."

"That is not what I meant," said Galadriel. "This entire scheme is pointless. We will not achieve anything by fighting each other. There is enough pain in the world already; why should we seek to cause more?"

Maedhros stared at his cousin.

"You have changed," he said, with newfound respect in his voice. "You have grown."

"It would be nice to think that you had changed, too," said Galadriel.

Maedhros smiled at her.

"Perhaps I have," he said. And he grabbed the blade of his sword with his right hand and dragged it along the edge until a trickle of blood appeared on the silver blade.

"I... I guess that counts as a victory for Galadriel," said Nimrodel. "I don't suppose anyone else is willing to follow their example and refrain from this madness?"

The problem with asking a question like that is that unless everyone gives the same answer, you will be forced to repeat it to each of them separately. This was exactly what happened to Nimrodel. After she had done so, she found that Fingon, Amrod, Amras and Argon did not want to fight, whereas the others were as determined as ever.

"Very well then," said Nimrodel. "Fëanor and Fingolfin. I suppose we had better get it over with."

The two sons of Finwë did not waste time on answering her. They drew their swords.

"Begin," said Nimrodel.

"Stop this madness!"

The voice did not seem to be particularly loud, but nonetheless it managed to enter the ears of everyone present and deliver its message with a blow right into their nervous systems. Fëanor and Fingolfin stopped dead with their swords raised in the air, ready to strike.

The third son of Finwë had arrived. He did not look pleased. Fëanor and Fingolfin exchanged a look. It seemed to say that, for once, they agreed on something: Finarfin and his attempts to keep them from fighting each other was a bloody nuisance. With their swords still raised, they turned to face their brother, while glancing sideways at each other just in case the other one tried a surprise attack.

"Go away," said Fëanor. "Námo gave us permission to fight."

"Yes," said Fingolfin, "he as good as ordered us to."

"You handed over this matter to him because you were biased," said Fëanor, "so you can hardly protest against his judgement."

"And please don't try to talk me out of it," said Fingolfin. "It would be a waste of time, both mine and yours."

"Yes," said Fëanor, "don't you have a city to rule?"

"Unfortunately, I do," said Finarfin, in a tone that was perfectly calm and about as easy to argue with as continental drift. "I never wanted to be king, but you two had to run off on adventures and leave me to clean up your mess. So I took up the responsibility, a word which I am incidentally starting to doubt either of you know the meaning of, and I became king, and I suspect I have been better at it than either of you. And since I am the king _you will listen to me._"

Fëanor turned towards Fingolfin.

"Has he ever spoken like this to you?"

Fingolfin shook his head.

"Perhaps we should listen to him, then."

"Thank you." Finarfin breathed out. "There is no time for your petty sqaubbles; we have a bigger problem. Moringotto has escaped from the Void."

Everyone - except Nimrodel, who merely looked confused - stared at one another, as if trying to make sure that everyone else had heard it too.

"What did he say?" said Nimrodel.

Finrod repeated his father's words, in Sindarin this time. A shocked silence followed. It was broken by the last sound anyone had expected.

Fëanor was laughing.

What was so chilling about that laugh was that it was perfectly sane. It was not the laugh of someone who, for example, has found out that his pregnant wife just killed herself and incidentally happened to be his long-lost sister. It was rather the laugh of someone who has just spotted something mildly funny he'd never noticed before. It was not desperate of defiant or power-mad. It was merely amused.

"Is he... mad?" said Nimrodel.

"Was there ever any doubt about that?" said Fingolfin.

"'But on the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West to the uttermost East'," said Fëanor. "'To an evil end shall all things turn that they begin well...' Tell me, did they ever get around to _lifting_ that curse?"

* * *

><p>When Fëanor later repeated that question to the council of the Valar, he got nothing but chilly stares in return.<p>

"I told you he should never have been let out of Mandos," said Ulmo.

"Excuse me?" said Fëanor. "How exactly is this my fault? If your curse has backlashed, I would think that the responsibility lies with you."

All the Valar had been gathered at the Ring of Doom, and messengers had been sent to the elven leaders in Valinor and on Tol Eressëa. Most of them had not arrived yet, but Ingwë was there, accompanied by various Vanyar, and Mahtan was sitting at Aulë's feet, looking daggers at his son-in-law, and then of course there were the descendants of Finwë. All of those who had gone to the field to fight had followed Finarfin to the Ring of Doom, even Nimrodel, who looked as if she didn't know why she was there but didn't know where else she was supposed to go either.

"Ulmo has informed us," said Varda, "that Moringotto escaped while Eärendil was distracted by your sons, and thus did not guard the Door of Night as he normally does."

"So how did Ulmo hear about it?" said Maedhros.

"I listened," said Ulmo. "That is the best way to hear things."

"We have confirmed it," said Oromë. "Moringotto has escaped."

"We will have to fight him," said Tulkas cheerfully.

"Speaking of that," said Fëanor. "I have heard that there is a prophecy regarding the death of Moringotto involving some stupid human warrior and a sword forged by a certain heliophobic dark elf."

The Valar looked at each other.

"Have you indeed?" said Manwë.

"Yes," said Fëanor, "and it is ridiculous. I should be the one to kill Moringotto, obviously. I have never seen this sword the prophecy speaks of, but I have no doubt I could forge a better one" - Mahtan angrily murmured something, but Fëanor ignored him and continued in a somewhat louder voice - "and unless you let me kill Moringotto, with a sword that I have made myself, I will never even consider breaking the Silmarils..."

"Does that mean that you are prepared to break the Silmarils if we grant you this?" said Yavanna.

Fëanor looked furious. Then he said, "Yes, as long as you only ask for it at the end of the world."

Aulë said something unintelligible to Manwë, who answered in the same strange harsh language.

"There's not much point in that," said Fëanor. "I speak Valarin, remember? And yes, you can trust me. I could always swear an oath, if that makes you any happier -"

"No," said Vairë quickly.

"No, better not," said Estë.

"Are we all agreed?" Manwë looked at his fellow Valar, and although none of them said anything, they must have communicated with him somehow, because a moment later he said, "Yes, it would appear so."

"So be it," said Námo.

"And now let us discuss the problem at hand," said Ingwë. "If Moringotto attacks us, we must be ready to stop him."

* * *

><p>When Fëanor and his sons arrived at Formenos at nightfall, Nerdanel met them in the door.<p>

"I already know," she said.

"How?" said Curufin, apparently shocked enough by the day's events that he had forgotten he wasn't speaking with his mother.

"Ask her," said Nerdanel, and gestured towards Erwen, who was standing a bit further into the hall.

"It was the author," said Erwen. She looked tired. "She must have had a sudden flash of inspiration, or something; suddenly I just _knew_... so I rushed out to tell Ulmo."

"So that's how he knew," said Amrod.

"Why Ulmo?" said Celegorm.

"He listens," said Erwen, "and it was the fastest way. I never thought she would do something this idiotically dangerous."

"Actually, I think this might work out to our advantage," said Fëanor. "She will have to focus on our battle against Moringotto; that means she can't spend as much time dwelling on the things I will need to make in order to reach her and overthrow her."

"I'm pretty sure she will see everything you do anyway," said Erwen.

"She might see it," said Fëanor, "but that doesn't mean she will understand it."

* * *

><p>"I must say, Ulmo, that Túrin prophecy was one of Itarille's brighter ideas," said Varda when all the elves had left.<p>

"Yes," said Yavanna. "I suspect that if we had merely told Fëanáro that he was supposed to kill Moringotto, he might very well have refused out of spite."

"People never do what you tell them to do," said Ulmo. "Ask me how I know."

"So why do you continue to tell people what they should do?" said Oromë.

Ulmo's only answer was a mysterious and somewhat melancholic smile.

"And you got him to promise to unmake the Silmarils at our request too," said Aulë to Yavanna. "Well done, beloved."

"All this is very well," said Manwë, "but we still have to deal with Melkor."

A troubled silence spread among the Valar. The tears that were flowing down Nienna's cheeks seemed to be more numerous than usual. Irmo sighed. The only one who looked happy at the prospect of tackling Morgoth again was Tulkas.

"Somehow we always seem to end up destroying continents when we try to intervene," said Vána. "I do hope we can avoid drowning Valinor."


	14. Battle of Sudden Flame

**Chapter 13: Battle of Sudden Flame**

_In which there is finally some action of the seas-of-blood and heaps-of-slain variety._

* * *

><p>There was no sign of activity from Morgoth during the following weeks. People started speculating that he might have gone to the lands of Men. At Formenos, life settled into calm routine - well, as calm as things can be when there are Fëanorians involved. Fëanor spend most of his time working on some new project; he claimed that it was something they needed to overthrow the author. The rest of them had to take his word for it, since none of them knew what he was doing. He insisted on making all his notes in his new runic alphabet, saying that this would make it harder for the author, as well as any spies who might happen to look through his papers, to figure out what it was. Nerdanel and Curufin were the only ones who had any idea what he was working on, because he would occasionally discuss some part of it with them, but even they didn't know much about it.<p>

The food situation had improved with Nerdanel's arrival, since she had been foresighted enough to bring provisions. She even had some lembas. They were surprised that queen Eärwen had let her bring that, but Nerdanel pointed out that she was actually technically a queen, and thus entitled to give away lembas. With what she had brought, and what the sons of Fëanor brought in from their frequent hunting expeditions, they were in no danger of starving, and had time over to do other things than gather food.

Maglor seemed to be composing a new song, and spent most of the time alone in his room or walking outside. The other sons of Fëanor busied themselves with practising their already excellent fighting skills and looking over the fortifications of Formenos. Nerdanel took pity on Erwen and offered to teach her basic metalwork; at first she shied away from the thought, mumbling something about not being all that comfortable around fire and metal, but then her love of learning took over and she accepted. Maedhros' right hand healed, and Amras seemed to be getting used to the idea of giant lights in the sky. In short, a few weeks passed by in relative tranquility.

And then there came a night that was anything but tranquil.

"That is no big force," said Fëanor, staring intensively into the dark night. Of course, to his sharp elven eyes, the stars gave enough light to see.

"No," said Amrod. It was he who had been on watching duty, and who had woken them up with the news that they were under attack.

"A small band of orcs," said Caranthir. "We should be able to destroy them fairly easily."

"It has to be a trap of some kind," said Maedhros.

"I don't see how it can be," said Celegorm, "unless there is an invisible army out there. Any reinforcements will arrive too late; we will already have slaughtered the orcs and retreated when they get here."

"There has to be a catch," said Maedhros. "Perhaps he is trying to test our strength?"

"And if he is, what do you propose we do?" said Curufin.

"Well, kill them, I suppose," said Maedhros.

Curufin did not answer, but neither did he need to; that smug smile on his face spoke for itself.

"Right, right," said Maedhros. "I just want it noted that I don't like this. There is something suspicious about it."

* * *

><p>By numbers alone, the small group of elves who gathered behind the front gate and prepared to attack the orcs outside was vastly inferior. But one must keep in mind that they were Fëanor and his sons: mighty warriors born in the age of the Trees when the world was young, hardened in numerous battles, wielders of blades forged by the mightiest craftsman that ever lived, fierce and fearless fighters of the house of Finwë. Well, and then there was Erwen.<p>

"The plan is simple," said Maedhros. "We open the gate, rush out and kill them, and then return. Without getting killed. Is there anything that wasn't clear?"

No answer.

"Very well, then." He took a deep breath. "Open the gate."

Amrod and Amras pulled the bars and swung open the doors, and the poor orcs who were advancing towards Formenos found themselves facing a bunch of flame-eyed elves with swords that gleamed as ice in the starlight. If any orc had ever written an article for entitled 10 Signs Your Night Is About To Get Worse, this would almost certainly have made the list. Fëanor led the attack, laughing as he fought, and the orcs fell as bowling pins for his sword. Hacking and slashing their way through the orcs to keep up with him were his seven sons, accompanied by Erwen, who tried to make up for what she lacked in skill by sheer fury. Fear and confusion spread through the rapidly thinning enemy lines as wildfire. Some of the orcs on Maedhros's flank were fleeing already.

"That is for my hands," shouted Erwen as she stabbed a badly-armoured orc in the shoulder, "and that is for my tongue," she directed a blow towards the next one's sword arm, "and that -"

She stumbled and fell, and would have been pierced by the orc's blade if Caranthir had not stabbed him first.

"A word of advice," he said. "When in battle, focus on fighting. You kill your enemies with your sword, not your tongue."

"They are running away!" shouted Celegorm over the clangs of battle. "Come back, you cowards!"

"Don't follow them!" shouted Maedhros. "Remember the plan!"

There were only a few orcs left now, hopelessly struggling to deflect the blows of the elves. Then, suddenly, a red light appeared in the north.

"Flame and shadow!" said Maglor, absent-mindedly cutting off the head of the orc he was fighting. "I had forgotten how fast those things move."

"Ai, a Balrog - a _Balrog_..." said Erwen. Her sword fell from her hand.

"Only one?" said Fëanor. His eyes sparkled. It was about time he got his revenge.

The duel between Fëanor and the Balrog would have made a splendid film sequence. The fire of the Balrog was reflected in Fëanor's eyes, and his sword shone red as blood in the light of its flames. Many blows they exchanged, swifter than any mortal eye could follow; two spirits of fire, locked in a deadly dance under the stars. Although the Balrog towered over its opponent, it could not defeat him; once only had its whip touched him, but Fëanor's sword had already stung it several times, staining the ground with its black blood.

The Balrog's movements were slower now, but Fëanor's were as quick as ever; and then he leapt forward, ignoring the fiery whip that twisted around his legs like a snake, and drove his blade into its chest to the hilt. The Balrog shuddered and fell, hitting the ground with a final dull thud. Fëanor struggled back onto his feat, freeing himself from the smouldering remains of the Balrog's whip in the process.

"That was _fun_," he said.

"Yes, fine, and now let's go back," said Maedhros, with a worried glance at the surroundings. "If there are any more surprises for us out here, I would rather avoid them."

"Right," said Maglor. "Can someone help Erwen back on her feet? She doesn't look too well."

That was true. Erwen was half-sitting, half-lying on the ground, shaking all over. Her eyes were closed and her face was pale and sweaty.

Amrod extended an arm towards her.

"You can look now," he said.

She didn't seem to hear him.

"We don't have time for this," said Maedhros. "Get up." He grabbed her shoulder and roughly dragged her back on her feet. Although she looked a bit unsteady, she remained standing of her own accord.

"Er, Russandol," said Amras. He was kneeling beside the corpse of a small orc. "When you said you didn't want any more surprises..."

"What is it?" said Maedhros.

"This one isn't dead."

"Put its out of its misery, then," said Maglor.

"It isn't miserable," said Amras, "it's not badly hurt."

"Misery could be arranged," said Curufin.

Maedhros sighed.

"What are you suggesting, Attarussa?"

"We can't kill it while it's unconscious," said Celegorm. "That's not fair play."

"I think we have to take it prisoner," said Amras.

* * *

><p>Nerdanel was not too happy about it.<p>

"I thought it was bad enough with all those injured birds Tyelko used to drag home," she muttered, "not to mention that giant dog... but this is too much. An _orc_?"

"Well, we couldn't just murder it in cold blood, could we?" said Amrod.

"Be grateful that it isn't a dragon," said Maedhros.

Their mother sighed, and went to fetch some ointment for Fëanor's burned legs. Although, in truth, Fëanor did not seem too bothered by his wounds. His eyes were still burning brightly, in a cheerfully deranged way, and you could see how plans and ideas were rapidly forming and dissolving in his exalted mind.

"We may be able to extract some information from it," he said.

"We mustn't mistreat it," said Amras. "It's a prisoner of war."

"There is no reason we cannot talk to it, though," said Fëanor. He looked at the sad bundle on the floor. The orc had not reacted when they took away its weapons (Fëanor had muttered quite a lot about the abominable lack of craftsmanship evident in them), or when they dragged it to Formenos, or when they bound it and dumped it on the floor until they could figure out what to do with it.

"Except that I doubt it speaks Quenya," said Maglor, "or even Sindarin."

"Thindarin," said Fëanor automatically.

"Erwen speaks Black Speech," said Curufin. "Where is she, anyway?"

"In bed," said Nerdanel, standing in the door. They had not noticed her returning. "I gave her something to sleep on. The poor thing seemed terribly upset."

"Well, as soon as she and that thing are awake, she must talk to it," said Fëanor. "In the meanwhile, find a room to put it in, Turko. It smells terrible."

* * *

><p>"It seemed like such an good plan," said Maedhros. "Why do our excellent plans always fail?"<p>

"You said you spoke Black Speech," said Curufin.

"I did," said Erwen. "But that was thousands of years ago. The language of the orcs must have changed quite a lot. I really have no idea what it tried to say. I could understand a few words here and there, but nowhere near enough."

"You remained in Middle Earth until quite recently, Káno," said Fëanor. "Surely you must have learnt the languages -"

"I was walking along the seashore and singing, Father," said Maglor, "not studying languages. Least of all Orcish. You know I am no linguist; I had to ask Curvo to help me translate my name into Sindarin...

"Thindarin," said Fëanor absent-mindedly. "Speak correctly."

His sons exchanged a look. It seemed to say that the problem wasn't that Maglor had spoken incorrectly, it was that Fëanor's definition of correct was somewhat outdated. Fortunately Fëanor was too deep in his thoughts to notice it, otherwise they might have been treated with a long lecture about how their refusal to thpeak properly was completely abominable and a deliberate insult to his mother.

"I suppose..." said Fëanor slowly, "I suppose we could always ask Findaráto."

"_Findaráto?_" said Celegorm.

"I understand that he first managed to communicate with the humans," said Fëanor. "Talking to an orc cannot be very different."

"It's worth a try," said Nerdanel, "but do you propose to bring the orc to Tirion, or to bring Findaráto here?"

"I think we should all move to Tirion," said Maedhros. "We are too exposed here. We may have won this first battle, but that only means that the next strike will be harder."

"Will uncle Arafinwë let us do that?" said Maglor.

"What do you mean, 'let us'?" said Fëanor.

"I will talk to him, Makalaurë," said Nerdanel, "he can hardly leave us at the mercy of Moringotto."

"It is settled, then," said Fëanor. "I need some time to collect my things; after that, we march for Tirion. Oh, and do not tell people that we have an orc. No need to worry them.


	15. Noldor

**Chapter 14: Noldor**

_In which the readers are treated to a lovely cocktail of prejudice and hypocrisy, with some stereotypes sprinkled on top. Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Smuggling an orc into Tirion can be rather tricky, unless you are Fëanor. None of the guards at the gate seemed all that eager to inspect the baggage of the paranoid instigator of the Kinslaying. Thus the orc - which had been rendered unconscious once again - entered Tirion as a bundle among many, loaded on the horses the Fëanorians were leading.<p>

They took up residence in their old home, which had been abandoned since Fëanor left Tirion. It was a large and luxurous house, but sadly lacking in the dungeon department; they had to work a bit to segure a room for the orc. Once such initial practical problems had been solved, Maedhros and Maglor went to visit Finrod, whereas Nerdanel went to inform Finarfin that he would have to deal with his crazy half-brother's return. Fëanor pointed out that the guards at the gate had presumably already told Finarfin about their arrival, but Nerdanel insisted on going, saying that it was only basic politeness. Despite Fëanor's renowned mastery of language, the words basic politeness caused his face to go blank for a second, as if he wasn't sure what they meant.

Finrod's house was, like the rest of the houses in Tirion, white. Its most spectacular feature was its garden, which was full of sweet-smelling flowers; butterflies fluttered hither and thither among them, looking as if they had trouble deciding on an eating place among such abundance. A splendid mallorn tree - a gift from his sister, one must presume - and a pleasantly singing fountain completed the scene. It was not at all surprising to see a golden-haired woman, who could have been Vána's younger sister, appear round the corner.

"You must be Amarië," said Maglor.

The Vanyarin beauty smiled at them.

"That is my name," she said. "I am afraid I don't know yours."

"I am Maitimo Fëanárion, and this is my brother Makalaurë," said Maedhros, surprised that there was anyone who didn't recognize two of the most notorious elves in history.

"Oh, you are Findaráto's cousins!" said Amarië. "How nice to finally meet you!"

Maglor scanned her face for any traces of the sarcasm he knew must be there, but he could not find any.

"That is an... unusual reaction," he said carefully, "most people aren't glad to see us."

"Really?" said Amarië. "Well, I am delighted, I assure you. How come we haven't met before?"

Maedhros and Maglor stared at her.

"Er..." said Maedhros, "you lived among the Vanyar, whom we never had much to do with, our father became estranged from his brothers before Findaráto started courting you, we were banished to Formenos, and then there was the entire business with the Silmarils and the Kinslaying and the Doom of the Noldor?"

"Oh yes, your jewelry war," said Amarië. "But that was all resolved a long time ago, wasn't it?"

"We have been in Mandos until now," said Maedhros. "Well, I have. My brother has been in Middle-Earth."

"Middle-Earth? Until now?" Amarië looked shocked. "I thought you had all come to your senses and returned to Valinor long ago! Well, we are all here now, at any rate. Would you like a cup of tea?" She gestured towards the door.

"Actually, we came to see Findaráto," said Maglor. "Is he at home?"

"I'm afraid not," said Amarië. "His sister wanted him to follow her to Eressëa, for some reason. I don't know when he will be back. It's rather strange, really; normally she visits us here instead, and the few times he's been to Eressëa it has always been for a decided length of time. I suppose it has something to do with this new war against the Enemy, may the Valar sort it out quickly. Are you sure you wouldn't like some tea?"

When Maedhros and Maglor brought these news back to Fëanor, he said that it was only to be expected that Artanis was planning something, and sent them out again to get a boat so they could go to Eressëa. This turned out to be easier said than done. There were a few Telerin ships anchored outside Tirion, but their captains categorically refused to take any sons of Fëanor onboard. Maedhros argued, pleaded and reasoned, to no avail. It was two dejected elves who made their way back home, where they unexpectedly found an old friend waiting for them in the hall.

"Hello, Russandol," said Fingon. "Hello, Makalaurë. You don't look too happy to see me."

"Findekáno!" said Maedhros. "Of course I am happy to see you."

"We have had some trouble with the Teleri," said Maglor, as an explanation of their sad faces.

"Well, tell me what it is," said Fingon, "I managed to get you out of it last time, didn't I?"

Maedhros laughed.

"I don't think rushing in with an army is a good idea this time, Findekáno," he said.

"It wasn't a good idea last time either, I suspect," said Fingon. "But enough about that. Let's get a bottle of wine and then you can tell me what you are up to."

And so, over a bottle of wine, Maedhros provided Fingon with selected pieces of the truth. That is to say, he told him that Fëanor had ordered them to find Finrod, while at the same time insinuating that he didn't know why, and he told about their visit to Amarië and her strangely dismissive approach to their past offenses.

"Vanyar," said Fingon. "They're all like that, I'm afraid. Too busy singing hymns to the Valar to pay attention to what happened in the world outside. That's what it's like for us Noldor now: the Vanyar think we're silly fools for leaving Valinor, the Teleri look down at us for the Kinslaying, and the Sindar seem to dislike us too, for some reason. Probably because they are jealous of us. Same goes for the dark elves, of course."

"You say it like it's a good thing," said Maglor.

"Well, the Vanyar are stupid, the Teleri are lazy, and the Sindar and the dark elves are backwards, so who cares about what they think?" said Fingon, grinning. "Besides, it gives us something to do, arguing about each others' inferiority. Speaking of which, what was that about your having trouble with the Teleri again?"

"They refuse to take us to Eressëa," said Maedhros.

"Oh, yes, they wouldn't take any Kinslayers aboard their ships for a while," said Fingon, "but they aren't allowed to do that anymore. Findaráto managed to get his anti-discrimination law approved, you see. It was around when those hombities, or whatever they were called, arrived here."

"Hombities?" said Maglor. "Do you mean hobbits?"

"Yes, those," said Fingon. "And a dwarf, too. Got quite a lot of publicity."

"So they can't refuse us?" said Maedhros and got back on his feet. "Well, we're going to talk to them again, then."

"Now?" said Maglor. There was plenty of wine left in the bottle.

"Yes, now," said Maedhros. "Goodbye and thanks, Findekáno."

* * *

><p>Had Maedhros been a bit more attentive, he would have noticed the smug smile on the Telerin captain's face before shoving the relevant passage of Valinorean law under his nose.<p>

"There," said Maedhros, "read it. You can't refuse us."

"Yes, it seems to be in order," said the captain calmly. "You may go on the next ship to Eressëa."

"Thank you," said Maedhros. "When does it leave?"

"Hard to say," said the captain. (It was around here that Maedhros noticed his smug smile and realized that things were about to go wrong again.) "We are all on holiday at the moment, you see."

"And when do you come off your holiday?" said Maedhros.

"I really couldn't tell," said the captain. "We have accumulated quite a lot of it over the millenia, you know..."

"But why?" said Maedhros, with a hint of desperation in his voice. "I thought you were supposed to have forgiven us for the Kinslaying?"

"Oh, we have forgiven you for _that_," said the captain. "Long ago."

"Then why?" said Maglor.

"You stole our ships!"

"Oh, by Sauron's toenails..." said Maedhros.

"And then you burned them!"

"Look, they were only ships!" said Maglor.

"_Only?_" said the captain. "Besides, the slain came back, but the ships didn't."

* * *

><p>The atmosphere at the table around which Fëanor, his sons and Erwen were seated could best be described as frustrated.<p>

"Honestly," said Caranthir, "they were only ships!"

"You fought a thousand-year-long war over jewels," said Amras. "I don't think you get to complain about people placing too much importance on material things."

"You can't compare the Silmarils to a bunch of ships," said Celegorm, although he didn't give any justification for his opinion. "I don't suppose we could buy a ship?"

"Don't be silly," said Maedhros, "the Teleri would rather sell their daughters than their ships."

"Could we build one?" said Amrod.

"I doubt it," said Fëanor, "not within a reasonable amount of time, at least."

"Could we borrow one?" said Curufin.

"No!" said Amras. "We are _not _going to steal a ship!"

No one seemed to have any more ideas. The silence that followed was broken by the sound of the outer door opening and closing.

"Hello!" said Nerdanel's voice from the hall. "I'm back! Where is everybody?"

"In here," said Maedhros.

Despite this less-than-informative answer it didn't take long for Nerdanel's head to peek in through the door. Her face was rosy.

"It's a bit chilly outside," she said.

"What kept you so long?" said Fëanor.

"I thought I should visit my family, otherwise my father might have started thinking you had murdered me," said Nerdanel. "You don't look too happy."

"Findaráto is on Tol Eressëa, we don't know when he will be back, and the Teleri refuse to take us there," said Fëanor.

"Well, why don't you ask Telperinquar?" said Nerdanel. "He's got a boat."

"Telperinquar?" said Curufin.

"Your son," said Nerdanel, "don't tell me you had forgotten him."

"Certainly not," said Curufin. "We talked to each other in Mandos when he arrived there, you know. But I expected him to settle on Tol Eressëa."

"No, he lives here," said Nerdanel. "He gets along very well with my father. Naturally, he visits Eressëa quite a lot, poor thing; that's why he had a boat built."

"Why do you call him poor thing and why is it natural that he should visit Eressëa often?" said Maedhros.

"Father is not the only Fëanorian with a fascination for Artanis' hair," said Curufin, "although in my son's case, it is a bit more than that."

Maedhros hid his face in his hands.

"Why," he said, "is everyone in my family in love with their cousins?"

"She is his half-first cousin once removed," said Curufin, "that isn't all that close, you know. Anyway, her husband is her cousin too, on the Telerin side - her second cousin."

"That's why I said everyone!"

"My grandson's love life doesn't interest me," said Fëanor, "but his ownership of a boat does. Did you ever get back on speaking terms with him, Curvo?"

"Yes," said Curufin, "I think we managed to sort out our past disagreements during his stay in Mandos."

"Excellent," said Fëanor. "Then go and ask him."

Celebrimbor was not all that hard to persuade; when he heard that they were going to see Galadriel, he eagerly accepted the proposal. However, he pointed out, his boat was too small to take them all. Maedhros rapidly decided that, although Finrod claimed to have forgiven Curufin and Celegorm, it would be more diplomatic not to bring them. Curufin responded that, if diplomacy was required, Caranthir should be automatically disqualified as well. This statement almost caused a fight between the two brothers.

The end result was that Curufin, Celegorm and Caranthir were left behind, as well as Maglor, whom Maedhros gave the impossible task of trying to keep their brothers out of trouble. Fëanor chose to remain in Tirion as well; he said that he could not see any reason to waste his valuable crafting time. Thus it was Maedhros, the twins, Erwen and Celebrimbor who set sail the next morning, in search for Finrod Felagund.


	16. Harvest of Sorrow

**Chapter 15: Harvest of Sorrow**

_In which Erwen gets some unwanted character development shoved down her throat, Celebrimbor saves the story from getting lost on the Featureless Plane of Disembodied Dialogue, and an Elvish drinking game is mentioned._

* * *

><p>The crossing to Tol Eressëa was somewhat rough. Quite possibly Ossë was to blame for it, since he had never quite forgiven the Kinslaying and the burning of the ships. Nevertheless, they managed to get over safely; Celebrimbor was an excellent sailor - he must have had quite a lot of practise - and the sons of Fëanor were not entirely unexperienced with boats, either. It was late afternoon when they arrived at Tol Eressëa, in the same small town that Maglor had arrived in on his earlier trip to see Elrond.<p>

"Artanis can normally be found in Avallónë, on the other side of the island," said Celebrimbor. "It's quite a long way. I suggest that we stay here over the night and sail or ride to her tomorrow. There is an inn right next to the harbour. The Silver Tree, it's called."

The Silver Tree turned out to be a tall building of grey stone, overgrown with roses. Warm yellow light escaped through its windows, seeming to whisper of rich food, songs and story-telling in front of a cozy fire, and afterwards a hot bath and a soft bed. It looked, in short, very welcoming, and it was with light hearts that the company entered through its doorway, carved into the likeness of two trees whose branches intertwined over their heads.

The room inside was no less welcoming than the outside. It was filled with wooden tables and chairs, and in a fireplace in the corner there was a merrily burning fire. A slim and very tall elf-woman was standing behind the bardisk.

"Welcome, friends," she said, "what can I do for..."

Her voice trailed off. She was staring at Erwen as if she'd seen a ghost.

"_Lauriel?_" she said.

"_Telperinwen?_" said Erwen. Her eyes widened. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," said the woman whose name apparently was Telperinwen. "What are _you _doing here, Lauriel?"

"Excuse me," said Amrod, "why is she calling you Lauriel?"

"Because that is her name," said Telperinwen. "She was my sister."

"You said your name was Erwen," said Maedhros.

"It's my mother-name," said Erwen. "Lauriel was my father-name. I didn't like the Sindarin translation of it, so I went with Erwen."

Telperinwen had apparently not looked at the rest of the company before, but now she did. A look of recognization appeared on her face and was quickly replaced by one of disdain.

"How very typical of you to team up with the sons of a man who almost started a civil war over correct pronounciation," she said.

"Tell me, is it custom at this inn to insult your customers?" said Amrod.

"Customers?" said Telperinwen. "That word indicates that you have bought something here, which you haven't, and right now I am not in the mood to let you do so -"

"Wait," said Erwen. "You run this place?"

"She is standing behind the bardisk and she said she lives here," said Maedhros. "Weren't you supposed to be intelligent?"

"But why?" said Erwen. "I thought you would be in Tirion..."

"I married a Sinda," said Telperinwen.

"You are married?" Erwen had seemed to be recuperating somewhat from the initial surprise, but now her previous shocked expression returned. "Don't tell me you have children, too."

"A daughter," said Telperinwen frostily.

"I am an _aunt_?"

"Yes," said Telperinwen, "and possibly the worst one in history."

"Listen," said Amras, "I can tell this is going to be some kind of family argument, and although I of course hope you'll be able to sort it out without resorting to drawing swords or burning each other alive, it will probably take some time, so would you mind bringing us something to drink _first_?"

Telperinwen showed them to a table in an alcove near the bar. Then she disappeared for a moment and returned with six glasses and a bottle of wine, which she put down on the table with an angry clink. She poured a glass for herself and drained it.

"There," she said. "Now we can talk."

"Give me one as well," said Erwen gloomily. "I have a sneaking suspicion I'm going to need it. What did I do?"

"I was hoping you could tell me that," said Telperinwen. "It must have been something fairly terrible. Did you kill another elf, perhaps?"

"Elves," said Erwen. "Plural."

Telperinwen muttered something about the right time and place to remark on grammar. She took another sip of wine before asking, "Who?"

"I didn't stop to ask for their names," said Erwen. She held up her empty glass. "Can I have another drink?"

"I am not going to let you drink yourself unconscious until you answer my questions," said Telperinwen, but she did fill Erwen's glass again, and started pouring wine for the Fëanorians as well. "Where and why, then?"

"Alqualondë," said Erwen.

Her sister stared at her.

"You never fought at Alqualondë," she said. "You were in the host of Arafinwë, just like me. Weren't you?"

"They were walking so slowly," said Erwen. "I was never good at that. So somehow I ended up in the front with Findekáno's people, and then there was fighting on the streets and blood and confusion everywhere and I stumbled over the corpse of someone I'd been laughing with only a few hours earlier and picked up his sword..."

"You never told me that."

"There never seemed to be a good opportunity."

"Was that why you didn't go back with me?"

"Excuse me," said Celebrimbor politely, "you can stop pouring now, my glass is running over."

When Telperinwen had fetched a towel and cleaned up the table, and brought some more wine - it was disappearing at an alarming speed - she sat down heavily on her chair and turned to Erwen again.

"But if all you did was participate in the first Kinslaying, why on earth have you been gone so long? I assume you were in Mandos?"

"Yes," said Erwen. "I... the prospect of coming back to life wasn't all that attractive, to be honest."

It was fortunate that Telperinwen was not pouring wine this time, because if she had been doing so, she would probably have spilled it again.

"What?" said Erwen. "What did I say wrong this time?"

"Did you ever stop to think about how our parents would feel?" said Telperinwen.

"Well, yes, I assumed they would not be happy to hear that their daughter was a kinslayer..."

"That's not what I meant!" Telperinwen drained her glass again and put it back down on the table so violently that it almost broke. "Do you have any idea how worried they were? For a while I thought Mother would die from grief! And Father went into the War of Wrath mostly because he wanted to find you!"

Erwen bit her lip and suddenly became very interested in the floorboards.

"We had no idea where you were," continued Telperinwen. "We hoped you had survived the First Age, and when you didn't come back when it was over, we hoped you would return from Mandos soon, and then time passed and you never came back! They cared about you, you idiot! They loved you! Is it too much to ask in return that you don't leave them hanging in uncertainty about your fate? Didn't you realize that they would become worried sick?"

"No," said Erwen quietly. "I didn't realize that."

"No," said Telperinwen, "of course you didn't. Because other people aren't really people to you, are they? It's not that they don't matter, it's that you don't even pay attention to them. I doubt you have ever once in your life considered other people's feelings before making your decisions."

Erwen studied her hands in silence for a while. Then she said, "I deserved that, didn't I?"

"Yes," said Telperinwen, "you did. And when you get to Tirion you will go and talk to them."

"I will."

"Good." Telperinwen stumbled back onto her feet. She looked at the empty bottles at the table. The Fëanorians had made up for their silence by drinking, but they did not seem to be particularly affected by it. Then she looked at the empty tables in the rest of the inn.

"Where are the rest of my customers?" she said. "It should normally be packed by now."

"Oh," said Maedhros. "The Telerin captains all went on strike when we asked for a boat. Sorry about that."

"Never mind," said Telperinwen. "I'll take the evening off. I don't feel up to working right now anyway. How about I bring some more wine and we get drunk?"

"Sounds good to me," said Amras.

* * *

><p>When Geleidhion opened the door to his inn, the scene that met him was not was he expected. Normally this would have been the rush hour, but now the room was empty except for a table around which was seated his wife, Celebrimbor, a golden-haired woman he'd never seen before and three redheads that, considering two of them were identical and the third unusually tall, could only be the eldest and the youngest sons of Fëanor. Geleidhion suddenly felt a strong urge to help himself to some of the wine they were drinking.<p>

"Darling?" he said. "What is going on?"

"Oh, hello, love," said his wife. "The Teleri are on strike. Let me introduce you to your kinslaying sister-in law and some of her friends."

"Would you _mind_?" said the blonde.

"If you didn't want me to refer to you in that way, you could always have avoided killing people in the first place," said Telperinwen. "Reap what you sow."

The blonde woman sighed and turned to Geleidhion.

"A star shines on the hour of our meeting," she said. "I am Erwen. I don't think my sister mentioned your name."

"Geleidhion," said Geleidhion, and sat down heavily on an empty chair. He wondered briefly if he should have followed his mother's advice and married a nice Sindarin girl instead.

"Celebrimbor you already know," continued Telperinwen, "and I suppose you have already realized that these are Maedhros, Amrod and Amras, sons of Fëanor. Where is Gaearlinn?"

"Out with her friends," said Geleidhion.

"Gaearlinn?" said Erwen. "You named your daughter Gaearlinn?"

"No, my husband did," said Telperinwen. "And if you have any complaints, you could always have taken it up with him at her birth..."

"No, no, it's fine," said Erwen. "I suppose it sounds prettier in Quenya."

"Everything does," said Amrod, who had never quite forgiven Thingol for banning their language.

Geleidhion's head was spinning. In an attempt to make sense of things, he went through the conversation over again in his head, and discovered that he still hadn't gotten a satisfactory answer to his first question.

"Celebrinwen," he said to his wife, "would you mind telling me what is going on?"

"My mind is a bit hazy at this point," said Telperinwen, "but I think we were trying to drink and be merry."

Geleidhion looked at the empty bottles and gloomy faces in front of him.

"Well, I guess one out of two is... better than nothing?" he said.

"I'm sorry," said Maedhros, "I think I must have forgotten how to be merry."

It was at this point that Geleidhion gave up his attempts to make sense of things and helped himself to some of his own wine.

"So," he said, "how about a game of 'Gil-galad is an elven-king'?"

Celebrimbor frowned.

"Do people still play that?" he said. "I had hoped they would stop after his death."

"What is it?" said Amras.

"A drinking game," said Geleidhion. "Here on Tol Eressëa, we revived it. He isn't dead any more, after all."

Before anyone could ask for a further explanation, the door of the inn opened and five elves came in.

"Speak of the devil," said Celebrimbor. "Hello, Gil-galad. Won't you introduce us to your friends?


	17. The Eldar

**Chapter 16: The Eldar**

_In which we encounter the Eldarin equivalent of lightbulb jokes, and the author worries about what people will think about her using the words Sindar and Noldor in a conversation in Sindarin before realizing that she got away with it earlier and probably would have done so now too if she hadn't called attention to it._

* * *

><p>Gil-galad looked surprised to see them, but he soon recovered.<p>

"Certainly, Celebrimbor," he said. "This is Mablung and Beleg Cúthalion, of Doriath," two impressively built elves, one with a sword in his belt and the other with a bow slung over his shoulder, nodded at them, "Nellas, likewise of Doriath," he gestured towards a shy-looking woman, "and Mithrellas of... Lórien, or should I say Dol Amroth?"

"Just Mithrellas will do," said the last member of the company, a short elf-woman with dark hair and eyes full of an intriguing mixture of sorrow and vitality. "I was never much for formalities. Hello, everyone." She waved at them.

"Now, would you mind telling me why you said 'speak of the devil' when I came in?" said Gil-galad.

"And perhaps also introduce your friends to those of us who have not had the dubious pleasure of meeting them," said Mablung, with a glance at Mithrellas.

"Very well," said Celebrimbor, "these are my uncles, Maedhros, Amrod and Amras..."

"...and my sister, who apparently calls herself Erwen these days," interjected Telperinwen.

"...and the answer to your question is that our host had just suggested a game of 'Gil-galad is an elven-king," finished Celebrimbor.

"Could someone please explain what that _is_?" said Amras.

Gil-galad looked annoyed.

"Oh, no," he said. "The only good thing about my death was that they stopped that idiotic custom. Geleidhion, I forbid you to tell them the rules."

"But I wanted to know!" said Amras.

"So what brings you here, Gil-galad?" said Celebrimbor loudly.

"In truth, I don't know," said Gil-galad. "Galadriel sent me, Mablung and Beleg to accompany these ladies to the mainland."

"And you did not ask her why?" said Maedhros.

"Well, no..." said Gil-galad. "You know how it is on Tol Eressëa, Celebrimbor. There are kings and queens aplenty among us, but we have no ruler. And Galadriel is the queen we don't have."

"You may find it rather hard to go to Valinor," said Telperinwen, "the Teleri are all on a spontaneous holiday at the moment."

"I did think it looked unusually empty in here," said Gil-galad.

"But we have important business in Valinor," said Nellas anxiously.

"Don't worry," said Amrod, "I expect they will come off their holiday as soon as they realize we're not asking for their service any more."

"Why don't you sit down and have something to eat and drink while you're waiting?" said Geleidhion.

* * *

><p>Although the Silver Tree was such a cozy place, and its owners were very good at creating a warm and welcoming environment (when they weren't suddenly faced with long-lost kinslaying relatives), the atmosphere in the bar room at the moment was somewhat tense. This, reflected Geleidhion, was probably a natural consequence of putting three Doriathrin elves next to two of the instigators of the attack that destroyed that realm. One had to be careful with such things; more or less every group among the Eldar had a long-standing grudge against at least one other group. But what could one do when there were no other customers?<p>

"So, how do you and Gil-galad know each other... Celebrimbor, wasn't it?" said Mithrellas, the only person who didn't seem to be affected by the tenseness.

"We are distant cousins," said Celebrimbor, "and we had some business with each other during the Second Age."

"And you sounded as if you knew these people, too?" said Mithrellas to Mablung, innocently tramping further and further into the minefield of Eldarin feuds.

"They destroyed our kingdom," said Mablung, "and I think I may have killed one of their brothers."

"Oh," said Mithrellas.

"Was it Curufin or Caranthir?" said Amras curiously.

"Curufin," said Mablung, "but I may be mistaken; that battle was rather chaotic."

"You never said a truer word," said Amrod. "Fighting in caves in the darkness... even Nirnaeth Arnoediad was better."

"I don't mind so much if it was Curufin," said Amras, "he helped killing me, after all."

"It was an accident," added Celebrimbor, upon seeing the shocked faces of Mithrellas and the Sindar. "Father didn't know Amras was onboard."

Gil-galad laughed.

"No wonder you gave up the High Kingship, Maedhros," he said. "It was hard enough for me, even though there weren't all that many of us left by then and I didn't have any homicidal brothers to keep an eye on."

"I think Artanis got the right idea," said Maedhros, "taking over a kingdom of dark elves instead of trying to get the Noldor to do what they're told."

"We used to say that the Noldor left Aman because they needed space to quarrel in," said Nellas with a little smile.

"There was a joke about that," said Beleg. "What is the plural of Noldo? An argument."

"That is blatantly untrue," said Erwen, "I argue with myself all the time."

"Well, if it's going to be jokes, I know a few about the Sindar," said Amrod. "Why are they called Sindar? They never got around to inventing other dyes."

"What do you call a Noldo who isn't prepared to sell his brother for a Silmaril?" said Mablung. "An only child."

"What do the Sindar call someone who hides in his safe cave and leaves them at the mercy of Morgoth?" said Maedhros. "Their king. What do they call someone who shows up and saves them? A murderer."

"What is the difference between a Noldo and a dwarf?" said Mablung. "A couple of feet and a beard."

"My great-grandfather has a beard, you know," said Celebrimbor, "and I don't see what's so insulting about being compared to a dwarf. Wonderful craftsmen..."

"What is the difference between a Noldo and a Sinda?" said Amrod. "A Sinda hides from his enemies, a Noldo makes his enemies hide from him."

"Oh, I know the answer to that one," said Beleg. "What is the difference between a Noldo and a Sinda? A Sinda gets left behind because he waits for his kin, a Noldo gets left behind by his kin."

"Should we do something?" whispered Geleidhon to his wife. "I don't want them to start fighting."

Telperinwen rolled her eyes.

"You are asking a drunk Noldo to prevent an argument?" she said. "Until I see any drawn swords, I'm not going to worry about it."

"How many Sindar does it take to steal a Silmaril?" said Maedhros. "Five. One to get a dwarf to do it and four to kill him when he asks for payment."

"How many Noldor does it take to steal a Silmaril?" said Mablung. "One. Any more and they'd be killing each other over it."

"How many Avari does it take to steal a Silmaril?" said Amrod. "Why would they want to steal a nasty shiny thing like that, they would much rather stay in the darkness."

"How many half-elven, half-Maiarin women who chose a mortal life," said Beleg, "does it take to steal a Silmaril? One. It's not as if there are any more."

"How many Valar does it take to steal a Silmaril?" said Maedhros. "Fifteen. One to do it and fourteen to lament it while doing nothing to about it."

"How many Vanyar does it take to steal a Silmaril?" said Amras. "Two. One to pray to Manwë to do it for them and one to write a song about it afterwards."

"How many dwarves does it take to steal a Silmaril?" said Mablung. "Seven. One to steal it and six to hunt down and kill every single one of its owner's relatives."

"How many humans does it take to steal a Silmaril?" said Celebrimbor. "Ten. They can't count higher than that."

"Oh, yes," said Maedhros, "ours always seemed to have trouble with the duodecimal system."

"We had a different one for the humans," said Erwen. "How many humans does it take to steal a Silmaril? All of them. They just won't stop until you've killed every last one."

"Ah," said Beleg, "you lived in Mithrim?"

"Yes," said Erwen. "You know, I rather miss the people of Hador. Those crazy buggers made us seem sane by comparison."

The ice was broken, and Geleidhion could to his great relief watch his guests spend the rest of the evening drinking and talking and being merry without getting any closer to a fight than Gil-galad threatening to strangle Amras if he asked about 'Gil-galad is an elven-king' one more time.

* * *

><p>The morning after was, as mornings after tend to be, somewhat less merry. It was a silent and grumpy-looking group of elves that sat down in the bar room to try and eat some breakfast.<p>

"Can somebody tell the birds to keep the noise down?" said Amras. "My head hurts."

"Mine too," said Amrod. "Why do they have to sing so loud?"

"Because it's a beautiful morning," said Celebrimbor. Amrod looked at him in disbelief.

"How can you be so bloody cheery?" he said.

"Because I didn't drink enough wine to render a mûmakil unconscious last night," said Celebrimbor. "I went to bed early, and woke up with a good idea."

"I don't remember you leaving," said Amras.

"You were busy trying to drink Mablung under the table," said Mithrellas.

"Oh," said Amras. "Did I succeed?"

"I think we ended up concluding it a draw," said Maedhros. "Did I hallucinate or did you say something about a good idea, Celebrimbor?"

"I did," said Celebrimbor. "Gil-galad, you and your companions want to go to the mainland, so you need a ship. I have a ship. We want to go and see Galadriel, so horses would be useful. You have horses. Why don't we switch?"

"But how do we get back if we don't have a boat?" said Amras.

"There are other boats," said Gil-galad, "and nobody is going to deny Galadriel one. We accept your offer gladly, Celebrimbor."

"Be nice to my horse, mind you," said Mablung.

"Whatever crimes I have committed, cruelty to animals isn't among them," said Amrod, "and I wasn't planning to add it to the list, either."

And so the Fëanorian company set out towards Avallonë on horseback, riding through a landscape of fair green hills under a swiftly rising sun that, in Amrod's opinion, didn't need to shine quite that brightly, thank you very much, and what were all those birds so excited about anyway?

Around mid-day they reached a forest of tall grey trees, whose leaves covered the sun almost entirely, so that the ground was bare and dark without vegetation. They stopped to rest and eat there, next to a small brook that was singing for itself under the silver branches of the trees. Then they continued riding until at last, when the afternoon was on the brink of turning into evening, they reached Avallonë. It was a brilliantly white city slanting down towards a great harbour.

"You know," said Celebrimbor, "sometimes I think we lack creativity when it comes to constructing cities. We always seem to copy Tirion or Alqualondë or Menegroth."

"So this is where Artanis lives?" said Amras.

"She has a house here," said Celebrimbor. "Let us hope she is at home."

"You know, we came here to see Findaráto," said Maedhros.

"Of course," said Celebrimbor, looking slightly guilty. "Let us hope he is here, too."


	18. The Minstrel

**Chapter 17: The Minstrel**

_In which we realize that 'the gentlest and most patient' doesn't mean all that much when you add 'among the sons of Fëanor' afterwards._

* * *

><p>Considering the task he had been given was nigh-impossible, Maglor didn't do too bad. He watched his brothers like a hawk - although if they had been forced to choose a bird metaphor for his behaviour, they would probably have said mother hen instead, and also told him to stop treating them like accident-prone babies, seeing as they were thousands of years old.<p>

The only thing that happened during the first day of Maedhros' absence was that Celegorm tripped over one of Fëanor's works-in-progress. Although, given Fëanor's reaction, 'only' may not be an appropriate word here. After screaming at Celegorm for half an hour or so, he threw them all out of the house and told them to stay in the garden until they had learnt to behave. Maglor did his best to calm down the heated argument that ensued between his brothers; Curufin and Caranthir held that it was Celegorm's fault they had ended up here, whereas Celegorm didn't see why they blamed him for their father's unfair decision to punish all of them. In the end, Celegorm ignored them all and started talking to the birds instead. This only made Caranthir even angrier, and he followed his older brother around with questions about how he could be considered a great hunter when he was so damned blind that he couldn't see something that was right in front of his feet.

It was dinner-time when Nerdanel let them in again, with an apology for not having done so earlier.

"I was working, you see..." she said. It was a sufficient explanation. "I didn't realize you were missing until I noticed that there were only two people sitting at the table."

"How could you not hear Father screaming at Tyelko?" said Caranthir. "You know how loud his voice becomes when he gets angry. I thought the windows would break."

"Oh, no, it would take a lot more than that to break the windows of this house," said Nerdanel. "That glass was made with your father's special formula. So did you have a nice day, then?"

"Mother," said Maglor, "I was locked out of the house, without access to any musical instrument, or even my notes about the song I am working on, and I was forced to listen to my younger brothers' pointless argument for hours. That is not my definition of a nice day."

"I'm sorry," said Nerdanel. "I really didn't notice it. Oh well, dinner is ready when you are."

The four sons of Fëanor exchanged a look.

"Sometimes," said Caranthir, "I wonder how our parents managed to take their minds off their work long enough to conceive seven children."

* * *

><p>Ironically, the next day Maglor himself was the one who got into trouble. A passing remark of his caused Fëanor to ask him why he spoke as if there was no difference between subject and object, before launching into a long rant about how fighting evil personified and his unnumbered underlings was no excuse for letting your language degenerate. Curufin and Celegorm exchanged a look and pulled Maglor away into the next room before he could respond.<p>

"What do you think you are doing?" said Maglor angrily. "Let me _go_!"

"I'm sorry," said Celegorm, without loosing his grip of Maglor's arm, "it's just that I'd rather not hear 'Why Oh Why Did You Lose the Accusative Case' again."

"Father lectured us about that in Mandos," said Curufin. "He was very upset about it."

"Of all the things you have done," said Maglor, "_that_ was what he was upset about?"

"Oh, you know Father," said Celegorm, "he can be rather conservative when it comes to language."

"No," said Maglor, "that is not being conservative about language, that is showing a disturbing lack of proper priorities and let go off my arms right now, you two, or I swear I will..."

"I thought you weren't going to swear anything again," said Curufin.

"Yes, very funny, Curvo!" Maglor was struggling madly to get out of his younger brothers' grip, without much success.

"Look," said Celegorm, "this is for your own best - ow, that hurt!"

The door opened. The three brothers froze in mid-fight; for a moment their faces all had that embarrassed expression that comes from being interrupted by your mother when doing something you shouldn't be doing, but then they relaxed when they saw that the newcomer wasn't Nerdanel but Caranthir.

"The coast is clear," he said. "Mother ushered him into the forge. I think he's making jewels; that always seems to calm him down."

* * *

><p>On the third day, Maglor had reached the limit of his patience and employed somewhat unconventional means to keep his brothers under control. Some might have called them exaggerated. His younger brothers certainly did.<p>

"Would you mind, Moryo?" said Curufin. "I am trying to concentrate."

Caranthir stopped his rather impressive rant of creatively combined swearwords and watched his younger brother fumble with the lock. After a few moments, Curufin straightened himself up.

"The good news," he said, "is that it is not a very complicated lock. I would not even need any special instruments; I could open it in a few minutes with my usual tools."

"I have a feeling," said Celegorm bitterly, "that you are about to tell us that the bad news is that you don't have your usual tools."

Curufin nodded.

"Bloody bloody Makalaurë," said Celegorm. "Why did he lock us in here?"

"'For our own best', he said," said Curufin. Celegorm snorted.

"Well, he did say he had something important to do and didn't want us to disturb him," said Caranthir. "I wonder what it was..."

"Can you still get us out, Curvo?" said Celegorm.

"Maybe," said Curufin. "Give me any small metal objects you have..."

"Is this really the right moment for blackmail?" said Caranthir.

Curufin sighed.

"I meant daggers or hairpins," he said. "Not gold. Things I might be able to use to open this door."

One hour passed.

"We could try screaming for help," said Caranthir.

"That seems a tad undignified," said Curufin. He grabbed a hairpin from the small pile on his left and inserted it into the lock.

"I don't think anybody would hear us," said Celegorm. "And anyway, I am not sure I want them to. We shouldn't have fallen for such a simple trick."

"I know," said Caranthir, "but I didn't expect _Makalaurë _to try something like that. I thought he was supposed to be the nice one."

"What on earth gave you that impression?" saaid Curufin without taking his eyes off the lock. "You should have heard him screaming at us after the Nargothrond episode. I thought he would rip our heads off and send them to Thingol and Orodreth on plates."

"Huh. I read Erwen's account, and it said he was generally considered to be the soft one," said Caranthir.

"The _soft _one?" said Celegorm. "Honestly, why? Just because he took care of those half-breeds? There was a reason Russandol gave him the position that was hardest to defend, you know."

"I'm only telling you what she wrote," said Caranthir. "And she called Russandol the sane one."

"Attacking an entire army on your own counts as sane?" said Celegorm. "What did she call me?"

"The sexy one," said Caranthir, "although she added a footnote saying she personally didn't see why."

"Sexy?" said Celegorm.

"A human word meaning attractive," said Curufin, and put down the hairpin only to pick up another improvised lockpick.

"She got one right, then," said Celegorm.

"And Curvo the smart one," said Caranthir. Curufin smiled.

"But there was a footnote," said Caranthir. "Something about getting your plans ruined by your brother's dog. And a suggestion to replace smart with smug."

"I am the person who may be able to get you out of here," said Curufin calmly.

"I am only repeating what she wrote," said Caranthir defensively.

"Yes, but you are obviously taking pleasure in doing so," said Curufin. It sounded like a warning. Caranthir became quiet.

"What did she call you?" said Celegorm.

Caranthir mumbled something.

"I didn't hear that," said Celegorm.

"The sulky one," muttered Caranthir. His brothers laughed.

Even more time passed.

"You aren't going to succeed, are you?" said Celegorm.

Curufin's only answer was to pick up another item and insert it into the lock.

"You aren't."

No answer. Celegorm smacked his fist into the wall.

"That is not a very productive response, Turko," said Curufin calmly, and continued to fiddle with the lock.

"There must be something we can do," said Celegorm desperately. He looked down at his hand, which was starting to become red, and rubbed it. "Could we break through a wall?"

"They are massive stone," said Caranthir, "but I suppose we could try. It's not as if we have anything better to do."

Some more time passed.

Curufin looked up from his work.

"Do you have to make all that noise?" he said.

"You know a quiet way of destroying stone?" said Celegorm.

"Aqua regia," said Curufin.

"Oh, excellent," said Caranthir, "do you happen to keep some in your pockets?"

Curufin sighed.

"You do realize," he said, "that if by some miracle you manage to break through that wall, you will end up in the room where we put the orc?"

His brothers exchanged a look and, without further remarks, directed their futile attempts towards the opposite wall instead.

Even more time passed.

The click was barely audible even to Curufin, whose ears were mere inches away from the lock. His brothers probably wouldn't have heard it even if they had not been busy with their annoyingly loud breakout attempts. However, they would have been able to guess its significance from the look of almost pure satisfaction on his face.

_Almost_ pure.

Curufin glanced over his shoulder to make sure his brothers weren't paying attention to him. He pushed down the handle slowly. Then, with a single continuous movement, he pulled himself up onto his feet, swung open the door, leaped through the doorway and closed the door behind him.

It did not take many seconds before he started hearing desperate knocks from inside the room.

"What do you think you are doing?" cried Caranthir.

"Curvo!" shouted Celegorm. "Let us out!"

"To answer your earlier question, Moryo, I rather think that _this_ is the right moment for blackmail," said Curufin. There was no almost about his expression anymore; it was pure and unblended joy. "What was that about me not being able to get us out, Turko?


	19. Nóm the Wise

**Chapter 18: Nóm the Wise**

_In which MORE BLOODY DIALOGUE interspersed with badly executed rushing through the narrative and pathetic attempts to create suspense. (The author could not think of a summary and therefore asked Erwen to write one, which in hindsight clearly was a mistake.)_

* * *

><p>A grey ship was approaching Tirion. It was not a typical Telerin swanship, although its appearance was no less beautiful. Someone who was interested in boats would have been able to spot the loving handwork of Círdan with a single glance at it. Although someone who truly was interested in boats would not have been able to throw a single glance at it; they would have remained looking, unable to take their eyes away from its perfect simplicity. And they would have had plenty of time to admire the smooth lines of the hull, the curve of the sails and the way every little detail had been made as functional and beautiful as possible; it was making slow progress, since the wind - and there was not much of it - was coming from the west. The ship was forced to zigzag its way forward among playful little waves until at last it reached the stony shore beneath the city.<p>

A welcome committee made up of Celegorm, Caranthir and Curufin watched as the passengers debarked. There were more of them than expected. In addition to Finrod and the company who had set out to bring him to Tirion, there were two bearded men and a woman with hair as radiant as the sun and features that matched it in beauty.

"Were you really supposed to tell _her _about it?" said Caranthir.

He had directed his question to Maedhros, but it was Finrod who answered it.

"I have no secrets from my sister," he said. "Besides, she can read minds."

"Oh," said Caranthir. "Good point."

"And the other two are...?" said Curufin.

"This is Círdan, Father," said Celebrimbor, indicating the man whose beard and hair were a starlike silver. He nodded at them.

"Regarding the other one, I think we should let him introduce himself," said Finrod, "with whatever name he is using at the moment."

The stranger laughed.

"And what name are you using at the moment yourself, Findaráto Ingoldo," he said, "or should I say Finrod Felagund, Lord of the Caves and friend of Men, also called Nóm the Wise?"

"Oh, Findaráto will do, unless you prefer another," said Finrod. "Gentlemen, allow me to present you to Olórin, most commonly known as Gandalf the White, who before was Gandalf the Grey, also called Mithrandir and Thârkun and Incánus. Did I forget any?"

"Láthspell," said Gandalf, his eyes twinkling under the wide bream of the hat, "but I forgive you; I was never very fond of that one."

"Where is Makalaurë?" said Maedhros.

His brothers exchanged a look.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news first?" said Celegorm.

"The good ones," said Maedhros with a sigh. "Manwë knows I haven't had too many of those."

"He is getting married," said Caranthir.

"But he's already married!" said Amrod.

"He and his wife are getting married again, since he has returned from Mandos in a new body," said Curufin.

"Oh," said Amras. "Were our parents supposed to do that?"

An embarrassed expression passed over Caranthir's face.

"I, er, asked them that," he said, "and they, uh, said that they had. The important bit, anyway. They said the rest was just formalities."

"So what was the bad news?" said Maedhros quickly.

"Amarië is organizing their wedding," said Celegorm.

"I don't see why you would call that bad news," said Finrod, "she is very good at such things..."

"She has invited everyone," said Curufin. "And by that I mean everyone of the House of Finwë."

"What?" said Maedhros. "Both us and our cousins?"

Curufin nodded. Maedhros' chin dropped.

"The entire House of Finwë?" said Amrod.

"It's going to be a bloodbath," said his twin.

"You say it like it's a bad thing," said Caranthir, grinning.

* * *

><p>Finrod sent his companions in advance to his house (for some reason Celebrimbor ended up going with them too), while he himself went with the Fëanorions to talk to the orc. He wasn't able to figure out what it said - to Erwen's secret joy - but he assured them that, within a few weeks time, he and it would be able to communicate perfectly, especially with the help of Gandalf, who had some knowledge of Third Age orc dialects. He then showed that his epithet wasn't entirely undeserved by directing the question of whether he could bring the orc home with him to Nerdanel, who quickly assented, happy to get rid of the unwanted guest.<p>

"Are you sure your wife won't have anything to say about your bringing home an orc?" said Amras.

"Oh, Amarië won't mind," said Finrod, "as long as he doesn't trample her flowers."

"And you have a secure place to keep it in?" said Curufin.

"I am sure I can arrange something," said Finrod. "I'll come back tomorrow for him, shall I? I suppose I will have to make some arrangements for the transport."

"Do so," said Fëanor. "Would you like it conscious or unconscious?"

A pained expression passed over Finrod's face.

"I have always believed in treating prisoners kindly," he said, with a hint of reproach in his voice.

"Conscious it is, then," said Celegorm. "If you change your mind, you only have to say the word."

That night, as soon as Maglor had returned, Maedhros gathered all his brothers to something that was too informal to be called a council and too concerned with business to be called a family get-together. Perhaps the best word is simply gathering.

"I hear congratulations are in order," said Maedhros, directing his words to Maglor.

"Thank you," said Maglor.

"Out of curiousity," said Amrod, "how on earth did you get her to take you back?"

"I asked her to and she said yes," said Maglor simply.

"And you sang for her," said Curufin.

"Well, yes," said Maglor, "but there wasn't any improper magic in it. It was merely a song I wrote for her."

"You know, turning up with an apology and something you've made yourself seems to work really well," said Caranthir. "Maybe I should try that with my wife too."

"So what are you thinking of making?" said Celegorm.

"Weeell..." Caranthir scratched his head. "Chainmail?"

"Chainmail, Carnistir, is not very romantic," said Maglor, his voice a mixture of despair and amusement. "Maybe you could get Mother to make something for you."

"Tell me what else has happened in Tirion while I was gone," said Maedhros. "What is Father doing, for example?"

"Currently he is making improvements on the palantírs," said Curufin. "He is also working on another project which he refuses to let us see, since Turko tripped over it and broke it. Mother seems to be helping him with it."

"If you tripped over it, Tyelko, you must have seen what it looked like," said Maedhros.

"It looked like a thousand pieces," said Celegorm. "If I had noticed it before I tripped over it, I would have avoided doing so."

"And I cannot swear on it," said Curufin, "but I suspect there is a third project, too. He never speaks of it."

"I suppose we will find out sooner or later," said Maedhros. "You haven't killed anyone, have you?"

"No!" said Celegorm. "We don't go around killing people for no reason."

"I never said that," said Maedhros, "but you have such a talent for finding reasons. Is there anything else I should know?"

"Gil-galad arrived here with some Sindarin companions," said Curufin. "I suppose you already know, since they used Telperinquar's ship. Gil-galad is still here, but his friends seem to have disappeared."

"Good riddance," said Caranthir.

"Artanis sent them," said Amrod. "What on earth is she planning?"

The sons of Fëanor came no closer to finding out the answer to that question during the following few days, and neither did their father choose to share his plans with them. They were not the only ones with unanswered questions. The moving of the orc had meant that its existence could no longer be kept a secret, and now the entire city knew about it. What with the ominent lack of activity from Morgoth's side, the presence of an orc - a creature that many of the elves in Valinor had never seen except in their nightmares - in the city, and the upcoming marriage of Maglor, Tirion was buzzing with unresolved tension.

* * *

><p>"I do think Findaráto could keep us updated," said Curufin annoyedly. "Even if he has not discovered anything yet, he could at least tell us that."<p>

"We could always go and ask him," said Erwen. She had not been spending much time with the Fëanorions since they arrived in Tirion, but this afternoon she had joined them in their garden for another of those talks that people end up having when they feel that they ought to do something but don't know what.

"Bad idea," said Maglor, "Amarië will start discussing wedding arrangements with me again."

But since it was the only productive idea they had, or at least the only idea that made them feel as if they were doing something productive, they ended up going to see Finrod. They found him sitting in his garden, drinking tea with his wife, his sister, Fingon and Argon.

"Hello, Findaráto," said Maedhros. "I hope we're not disturbing anything?"

"Not at all!" said Amarië. "Do sit down, I'll get some more cups." She gave them a radiant smile before rushing into the house, every step bouncing with enthusiastic niceness.

"I've just received word from Elrond," said Finrod, as the newly-arrived guests found places to sit. "He will come here for the wedding."

"That's nice," said Maglor.

"Then who will be in charge on Eressëa," said Argon, "seeing as Artanis and Círdan and Gil-galad are all here already?"

"My husband remains there, you know," said Galadriel. "He is perfectly capable of taking care of everything; he did rule Lothlórien together with me, after all."

Argon seemed contented with this answer, but his brother looked skeptical.

"I wouldn't dream of questioning your word," said Fingon, "but I don't think that being your co-ruler counts as experience of leadership."

"Why not?" said Galadriel.

"Well," said Fingon, "you can be a bit..."

There was a pause as Fingon tried to come up with flattering synonyms for bossy, which is not an easy task, especially with Galadriel looking sternly at you. Fortunately for him, Maedhros came to his rescue.

"We were wondering if you had had any success with the orc, Findaráto," he said.

"I'm afraid not," said Finrod. "I am beginning to understand his language, but he has not told me any valuable information yet."

"Where is he?" said Erwen.

Finrod looked slightly embarrassed.

"He's, er, unconscious at the moment," he said.

"Ha!" said Celegorm. "What happened to kind treatment of prisoners?"

"He tried to escape," said Finrod, "and unfortunately he decided to take the way through some of Amarië's favourite roses. She was terribly upset. I'm afraid she hit him over the head with a household utensil. But he's not badly hurt."

There was a slightly shocked silence, and then Maglor started to laugh. One by one the others joined in, until Amarië returned with a tray full of cups to find the entire company wiping tears of amusement from their eyes. And then they all had tea together, and they had a rather nice time, and nobody got killed, and before they left Finrod promised to inform them as when the orc told him anything of interest.

Finrod did, as was only to be expected, keep his word. As soon as the orc told him something of interest - which happened a few days later - he informed the Fëanorians. In fact, the information the orc revealed was so critical that he also had to tell his father, the other elven leaders in Valinor, and the Valar themselves.

Morgoth had managed to revive a dragon.


	20. The Steadfast

**Chapter 19: The Steadfast**

_In which there is a scene inspired by The Hobbit and the author wishes she was half as awesome as these characters._

* * *

><p>It was an ordinary day in Tirion. That is to say that the sun was lazily making its way across a bright blue sky, without looking particularly threatened by the few whipped-cream clouds that were strewn along the horizon; a slight breeze played in the leaves of the trees, making them whisper softly, and the sea below the city looked as ripples of blue-green silk embroidered with glittering silver thread. A slightly less ordinary thing - in fact, one might go so far as to call it downright extraordinary - was that Fëanor had just sent his youngest son to ask Galadriel to come and visit him.<p>

And some distance north of Tirion, a dragon was advancing towards the south. It was a magnificent beast; red and golden, covered in diamond-hard scales that gleamed in the sun. Its lack of wings did not make it any less intimidating. Death and desolation followed in its footsteps; where it had dragged its body there was a trail of wilted vegetation, killed by the contact with its stinking belly. It moved slowly but steadily southwards, towards the heart of Valinor and the homes of the elves.

And then a small figure appeared in the south, riding straight towards the dragon. A hero? Well, the worm had faced heroes before, and killed a few. This hero might be brave, but courage alone is no defense against a dragon. To kill a dragon you need courage combined with strength and cleverness and a will of iron, and quite a lot of luck too; and this particular hero did not seem to possess all this, only a horse and a sword and shining new armour, none of which is very helpful against such an enemy.

Maybe the hero realized this himself, because he stopped while he was still too far away for the dragon to roast him alive. He dismounted and said something to his horse, which remained standing where he left it. Then he continued, now on foot; he got closer and closer until the dragon opened its mouth and let out white-hot fire, which surrounded him completely and should have turned him into a small heap of ash and blackened bones and liquid metal.

Except that it didn't. He was still there, his armour somewhat sooty but still intact.

"Who are you?" said the dragon.

The hero took a deep breath.

"I am the tamer of flame."

* * *

><p>Galadriel opened the door to Fëanor's workshop. It was surprisingly light and airy. One rather expects the workplace of a smith to be dark and dungeon-like, covered in soot and lit by a roaring fire, but this room defied all such expectations. It was large and high-ceilinged, with perfect proportions, and looked more like an artist's studio. Along one wall were arched windows, which let in plenty of light for the workbenches placed in front of them; these were covered in neatly organized stacks of pergament, jars containing strange glittering substances, distorted pieces of various metals, and jewels in every colour of the rainbow and a few more that probably didn't exist anywhere else. There were forging facilities too, of course; in a corner of the room an anvil could be glimpsed behind a table full of armour and sword prototypes. And in the centre of the room, standing next to what was probably the world's largest remaining collection of palantírs, was Fëanor himself. He was wearing a helmet.<p>

"Hello, Artanis," he said. "Do come in, but mind the dragon. Turko tripped over it the other day and I had to assemble it all over again."

Galadriel looked down. There was a miniature dragon on the floor, just inside the door. Its golden scales were semi-transparent, so that its skeleton could be figured out beneath them.

"Nice, isn't it?" said Fëanor. "I got Nerdanel to help me with sculpting it - no, don't get closer to it -"

The warning came just in time. Galadriel jumped backwards and narrowly escaped getting her skirt turned to ashes.

"Is this how you welcome your guests?" she said coldly to Fëanor.

"I was rather annoyed at Turko for destroying it," said Fëanor, "so I installed a self-defense mechanism. But it has been useful for testing different metals' resistability to dragon fire, and it might have a future in thief repellance..."

"The are no thieves in Valinor," said Galadriel, and it must be considered a splendid act of self-discipline that she didn't add 'except you'.

"Say that to my father," said Fëanor. "Enough about my little experiments. I expect you wonder why I asked you to come here?"

"Yes," said Galadriel, "and I also wonder why you are wearing a helmet."

"We are at war," said Fëanor.

"That is no explanation," said Galadriel. "Even you cannot be paranoid enough to expect an attack in here."

"Frankly, if you cannot tell why I am wearing it, I may as well take it off," said Fëanor.

Galadriel frowned. Then she said, "You are attempting to hide your inner heart from my view?"

"Yes," said Fëanor. Is it working?"

"No," said Galadriel.

"Ah, but are you saying that because it does not work, or because it does work and you want me to take it off?" said Fëanor.

* * *

><p>"I am the one whose dead creations had life, and whose living creations gave death. I am the one who stayed in the darkness and never fell under the shadow. I am called the Wise."<p>

"Pretty names," said the dragon, "but you have proved the last one false today. You cannot stand against me. But you have showed great courage in facing me, and for that I respect you. If you surrender, I will let you live."

"Your words will not sway me any more than your fire did, dragon. I will prove steadfast, I who was named traitor."

"Such charming riddles," said the dragon.

* * *

><p>"By all means keep your helmet on if you wish," said Galadriel, "but would you mind continuing? You were about to tell me why you asked me to come here."<p>

"Oh, yes," said Fëanor. "I wanted to discuss your plan."

"What makes you think I am prepared to tell you about it?" said Galadriel.

"There's no need to," said Fëanor, "I already know all about it."

Galadriel's eyes widened.

"You lie," she said. "That is not possible."

"Really, Artanis," said Fëanor, "you should know that if you look, you can be seen."

Galadriel looked from Fëanor to the table covered in palantírs. Then she hissed, and that small sound made Fëanor's calmly superior expression take on an ever so slight hint of fear.

"You," she said, "have been _spying on my mirror?_"

"Don't pretend you wouldn't have done exactly the same yourself," said Fëanor.

"I was using it to spy on Moringotto!" said Galadriel.

"That was what I was trying to do too," said Fëanor, "but, as it turns out, you never know who else is looking. We really need to develop some kind of privacy system - well, this helmet is a prototype, so it would be helpful if you could tell me if it works..."

"It doesn't," said Galadriel.

"Prove it," said Fëanor. "What am I thinking?"

"That it would be better to construct a mind shield that doesn't hide my hair," said Galadriel sourly.

"Amazing," said Fëanor. "What I could have done with that ability..."

"You managed to cause quite enough trouble without it," said Galadriel. "Did you call me here only to flaunt your disrespect for my privacy or did you have a better reason? Some of us are busy trying to thwart the wiles of the Enemy instead of spying on our allies, you know."

* * *

><p>"I am the abandoner and the abandoned. I am the queen of the damned, who gave the crownless one his copper crown. I am the daughter of the fox, the bride of fire, and the mother of sorrow. I am the one who had more than anyone else and lost it all."<p>

* * *

><p>"About your plan..." said Fëanor.<p>

"You are not going to oppose it?" said Galadriel.

"No, no, it's a good plan," said Fëanor. "I could have thought of it myself."

"It _is_ a good plan," said Galadriel coolly, "but, seeing as it does not end with you slaying Moringotto, I assumed you would not appreciate it."

"I don't mind postponing that battle until I have perfected my sword, especially since killing Moringotto would mean the end of the world, and then I would be forced to break the Silmarils," said Fëanor. He sounded as if the destruction of the world would be a minor nuisance, whereas the destuction of his precious jewels would be a catastrophe. "Now, about your plan, how were you going to..."

"I thought I might ask Telperinquar," said Galadriel.

"Actually, if I were you, I would speak to my mother," said Fëanor.

Galadriel stared at him. Then she said, "You mean that, if you were me, you would speak to _my_ mother. Assuming I were you."

"Fine," said Fëanor, "if I were you, I would speak to my paternal grandfather's first wife, and also stop pretending I didn't understand what people meant even though I was capable of seeing their thoughts. Now what do you say?"

"I have to admit it is a good idea," said Galadriel. "I could have thought of it myself."

"So you will do it?" said Fëanor.

"Yes," said Galadriel. "And will you stop thinking that?"

"But we _are_ alike, Artanis," said Fëanor, "more so than you will admit."

"And less so than you think," said Galadriel.

"Fine," said Fëanor, with a mischievous smile.

"Oh, stop that! Do you have any _idea _how tired I am of hearing people think about my hair?"

Suddenly the door to Fëanor's workplace was thrown open with a bang. A large elf strode in through it and kicked away the miniature dragon before its flames could burn his impressive copper beard.

"What have you done to my daughter, kinslayer?" he shouted.

"Mahtan?" said Galadriel. "Has anything happened to Nerdanel?"

"Ask _him_," said Mahtan, with a furious look at Fëanor. "He sent her to borrow our prototype dragonfire-proof armour for some testing, but she didn't return it on time -"

"I didn't send her," said Fëanor. "It was all her idea. I told her it was a bit early for a full-scale test, but..."

"YOU LET MY DAUGHTER GO AND FIGHT A DRAGON?"

"Mahtan," said Fëanor with uncharacteristic patience, "if you think I have ever been able to tell your daughter what to do, you are too stupid to be worthy of being her father."

* * *

><p>"There is no grief that can break my heart. There is no spell that can deceive my eyes. There is no fire that can melt my resolve. I am the steadfast. And I will not bend to your will, dragon; you will bend to mine.<p> 


	21. Thorn

**Chapter 20: Thorn**

_In which the chapter title isn't explained until the very last sentence, and even then it's a rather crappy explanation, built on a pun that doesn't actually work in Quenya, so please try not to think too much about it. Also, Tea With Glaurung._

* * *

><p>Fingon stared at his half-uncle as if he had gone mad. Well, madder.<p>

"It's a dragon!" he said. "You can't be suggesting that we let it assault us without defending ourselves!"

"That is not what I said," said Fëanor.

"You told me to order my archers to step down!"

"My wife is out there, you fool! Considering your history of being trigger-happy..."

"I cannot believe you just said that," said Fingon. "You are the last person in the world who gets to accuse others of unmotivated violence."

Fëanor's eyes narrowed.

"If it's unmotivated violence you want, I am sure it could be arranged," he said, and reached for his sword.

"Let's have no fighting in here," said Finarfin. "This is, after all, a council of war."

This statement produced a confused silence, which Finarfin hurried to take advantage of.

"So in summary," he said, "we have a dragon advancing towards us, and Nerdanel has ridden out to meet it. What on earth made her do such a thing?"

Everybody stared at Fëanor.

"I have already told you it was her own idea," said Fëanor. "I am sure she had a plan. And I am equally sure that her plan didn't include being shot to death because you lot are too cowardly to do anything but launch a rain of arrows as soon as that dragon is within eyesight!"

Finarfin sighed. Of course, a certain amount of disagreement was only to be expected in any gathering of Noldor, but this council was no closer to reaching a decision than when it had started. He had tried to avoid pointless arguments by emitting Angrod, Turgon and all but the two eldest of Fëanor's sons (he would have excluded Fëanor as well, if he had found a bloodless way to do so), but it didn't seem to have helped much. And their time was limited. In a very definite way. An imminent dragon attack tends to have that effect.

"I still don't understand why we can't use a palantír," said Fingolfin. "That way we could at least find out whether Nerdanel is alive or not."

"I have already told you the palantírs are down for maintenance at the moment," said Fëanor. "We are trying to install a security system..."

"That's ridiculous!" said Fingon. "Put them back up again!"

"It doesn't work that way," said Fëanor. "I am not going to waste time on trying to explain it to you. Suffice to say that using a palantír is not an option."

Suddenly the door opened. Well, actually, the action wasn't all that sudden. There was a sort of polite hesitation to it, as if the person opening it was a lowly office worker who didn't want to disturb his boss's important meeting but the building seemed to be on fire and maybe it would be a good idea to continue the discussions somewhere else, if it wasn't too inconvenient?

"What is it?" said Finarfin to the elf who had appeared in the doorway.

"The dragon," said the elf. "The spies we sent out - the most sharp-eyed of them say that it has a prisoner. An armoured elf on horseback."

"Mother," said Maedhros. "The one family member I didn't think I needed to keep an eye on-"

"I say we ride out and meet it," said Fingolfin.

Everyone's heads turned towards him.

"For once you have the right idea," said Fëanor, with grudging approval in his voice.

"It's a dragon, Father!" said Maglor. "It will kill you!"

"No," said Fingolfin. "In that case, it would have killed Nerdanel already. It must have kept her alive for a purpose. I think it will be willing to talk to us under peaceful forms."

"More likely it is some kind of trick," said Maedhros.

"Let's ride out and face it," said Fëanor. "What is the worst that can happen?"

"That you will have to fight a dragon?" said Maglor.

Fingolfin stared at him.

"I fought _Moringotto _in single combat," he said. "You think I am going to be afraid of a dragon?"

* * *

><p>The result of the council was that Fëanor, Fingolfin, Mahtan, Maedhros, Fingon, Argon, Finrod and Galadriel were sent to parley with the dragon. They rode most of the way without talking to each other. In any other group, one would have assumed that the reason for the grim silence among them was due to the fact that they were riding out to face a dragon. Here, though, the reason was a bubbling mixture of ancient grudges, allowed to simmer for thousands of years, and completely new irritation.<p>

"If you saw something in your mirror, you should tell us about it," said Argon stubbornly. "It could help us, and we need all help we can get."

Galadriel sighed, and looked down on her horse's grey mane.

"I'm not sure what I saw," she said. "The mirror shows many things; to weed out the truth from its visions takes time and hard work. All I can tell you is that there is a possibility that we have nothing to fear."

Argon muttered something, but did not question his cousin's judgement further. The

company rode on in uncomfortable silence, that sort of silence that stretches out as a rubber band until someone feels forced to break it, if only with a trite comment about the weather. In this case, someone was Maedhros.

"So how is the orc?" he asked Finrod.

"Oh, just fine," said Finrod surprisedly. "He is doing very well. Amarië is trying to teach him how to cook."

"To _cook_?" said Fingolfin.

"Your wife," said Mahtan, "is teaching an _orc_ to _cook_?"

"Yes," said Finrod. "She says it's no wonder they are so bad-tempered, with the sort of things they have been given to eat...

He did not elaborate further on Amarië's theories about orc diets, fascinating though it would undoubetely have been, because at that moment they spotted the dragon. It was a huge red-golden beast, and the smell of it made their horses unquiet. Fingon and Maedhros automatically drew their swords.

"Put those back," said Fëanor sharply.

"That is Glaurung," said Maedhros.

"Sheath your swords," said Fingolfin. "This is supposed to be a parley. No unnecessary provocations."

"Glaurung is a provocation all in himself," said Fingon, but he followed his father's order.

"We will _not _be the first ones to break the peace," said Fingolfin. "Leave that honour to Moringotto and the likes of him."

Maedhros put his sword back in the its sheath with rather more force than necessary. Fëanor drew his.

"Did you just compare me to-"

He was interrupted by a cry from Mahtan.

"Nerdanel!"

There was, indeed, someone riding beside the dragon; someone clad from top to toe in armour that gleamed as ice where it was not smeared with soot. As they watched, the dragon halted and the rider continued towards them alone. When she got closer she removed her helmet, so they could see that it was Nerdanel; she looked paler than usual, and there were dark shadows under her eyes, but they were filled with triumph. Galadriel let out a relieved sigh.

"So it was true," she said. "Unbelievable, but true."

"What exactly are you talking about?" said Fingon.

"Are you hurt?" said Mahtan. "What on earth were you thinking, riding out against a dragon on your own?"

Nerdanel's eyes found Fëanor's. His face lit up with sudden understanding, which a moment later transformed into a proud smile.

"Well done," he said. "_Very_ well done. Of course, I never doubted you for a moment."

"What is going on here?" said Argon. "Will we have to fight that dragon or not?"

"No," said Nerdanel. "There is no need to. He obeys me now."

"You... you managed to talk Glaurung into switching sides?" said Fingolfin.

"If you can get Fëanáro to listen to you," said Nerdanel, "a dragon is nothing."

* * *

><p>It was of course out of the question to let Glaurung into Tirion. He remained on the field outside the city, guarded by Nerdanel, as well as Mahtan and Fëanor, who seemed unwilling to leave her side. Meanwhile, Finarfin gathered his counsellors to discuss this new and completely unexpected turn of events. Had Glaurung really changed his loyalties - what little of them he had - or was this merely some trick? Weren't dragons evil by nature? Would they have to give him gold to keep him content? What would he eat? There were plenty of questions, and quite a few people - those who did not have first-hand experience of fighting dragons - wondered if it would not have been easier to put up a regular battle.<p>

The gates of Tirion remained closed, but many curious spectators gathered on its outer walls, eager to see this mythological beast. The sons of Fëanor were among them.

"And Mother controls it?" said Amras, with a skepical glance at the scaly creature towering over the three elves next to it.

"She says so," said Maglor.

A strange smile spread across Celegorm's face.

"What is it?" said Curufin, who had last seen his brother have that expression during their encounter with a certain Sindarin princess.

"She can never complain about my taste in pets again," said Celegorm. "I wonder if I can tame a Warg?"

"Excuse me," said a melodious voice behind them, "would you mind telling me what is going on?"

It was Amarië. Maedhros quickly summarized the day's events for her.

"Yes, yes, I knew that," said Amarië, "but what I meant was, it seems dreadfully rude to just close up the city and let Glaurung wait outside while we all stare at him. Not to mention poor Nerdanel; she must be very tired."

"It's a dragon," said Caranthir. "What do you suggest we do, invite it for tea?"

Amarië smiled happily at him.

"That's an excellent idea!" she said. "I will go and put on the kettle right away. Ambarussa, would you mind coming with me, to help me with carrying things?"

Saying no to that bright, eager face would have been like kicking a puppy. The two youngest sons of Fëanor exchanged a sheepish look before following Amarië.

* * *

><p>It was not a dark and stormy night. In fact, there was no wind at all. The sea lay still as a mirror under the starry Valinorean sky, and not a branch moved on the trees. In the shadow of one of them - a great oak, the sort of ancient tree that is a world in itself - two people met. Nobody saw them except for the stars above and the grass below and the mighty tree and its inhabitants. One of the figures was tall, the other short; apart from that, a hypothetical spectator would not have been able to describe them, since they were both hooded and cloaked. The shorter one seemed to be showing something to the taller one, who drew its breath.<p>

"These...are amazing," it said, its voice filled with wonder. "I understand why they call you Serindë."

"Therindë," said the smaller silhuette patiently. "It's Therindë. Spelled with a thorn."


	22. Mirror Mirror

**Chapter 21: Mirror Mirror**

_In which the author rejoices in drawing as many weird parallels as she possibly can, and more than one couple get married._

* * *

><p>The day of Maglor's wedding arrived.<p>

It was not a bad day, actually. The weather was nice, although by no means extraordinary by Valinorean standards, and the ceremony itself was touching enough. But the prospect of the wedding dinner hung over it all like a dark cloud; with such a guest list, there would be endless possibilities for conflicts. It was too much to hope for that all of the descendants of Finwë would be able to keep their notorious tempers under control, and it only takes a spark to ignite a barrel full of dynamite. A few angry words, a rude gesture, a drawn sword, and before you could say Silmaril the whole thing would have escalated into a civil war and if they were really unlucky they might end up with another thousand years of exile.

But though it should have been a complete impossibility, it seemed that Amarië had somehow managed to pull it off. She had placed Turgon opposite Celebrimbor, with the result that they were now discussing how they had solved various infrastructural problems in the beautiful cities they had built. Celegorm had been seated among some of Amarië's Vanyarin cousins, who seemed more interested in his good looks than any atrocities he might have committed during that silly episode with the jewels. Placing Curufin next to Elenwë was an unorthodox choice, but it seemed to have worked; he was treating her with extraordinary courtesy, and she was responding with pleased surprise. Aredhel had been placed between her twin cousins and seemed to get along splendidly with them. Caranthir and Gandalf were comparing their experiences of dealing with dwarves, Círdan and Mahtan were admiring each other's beards, and Fëanor was discussing Balrogs, the slaying of, with Fingon and Ecthelion of the Fountain.

* * *

><p>After the dinner the guests drifted around aimlessly in the garden, until smaller groups started to condense. To his great surprise, Maedhros found himself having a relatively civil conversation with Turgon, an elf he had been fairly sure was set on hating him for all of eternity.<p>

"I still think I had it worse," said Maedhros. "I had six brothers. Six."

"Yes, but you didn't have a sister," said Turgon.

"Oh, come on," said Maedhros, "Irissë was always such a sweet child."

"As long as she got everything the way she wanted it, yes," said Turgon.

"She never sent any cousins out to their death," said Maedhros, "or swore to kill anyone and destroy their people..."

"I would almost have preferred it if she had," said Turgon. Maedhros stared at him in disbelief.

"You cannot be serious," he said, "you were always the first to condemn our actions."

"I'm not saying your brothers didn't do horrible things," said Turgon, "but it was always other people's life they ruined. They never managed to get more or less forced into marrying murderous madmen."

"Well, no, that is among the few things they didn't do," said Maedhros.

"And they certainly never had children who ended up betraying you to the Enemy."

"I think my nephew technically did some business with Sauron," said Maedhros, "but that was after my time, of course. And apparently it was all a misunderstanding."

Turgon's only answer was an incomprehensible mumble. He seemed to be deep in his own thoughts, which, judging by the way he stared at a poor branch that hadn't done him anything, prominently featured Maeglin and an extremely painful death.

"Speaking of children, I don't think I've seen your daughter here," said Maedhros, gesturing vaguely at the surroundings. "Where is she?"

Turgon's expression changed, but only slightly: from extreme anger to extreme irritation.

"I have _no idea_," he said. "Nobody I've talked to has seen her in Mandos, and she's certainly not in Valinor - I think Ulmo and Námo have some sort of understanding, but whenever I try to talk to Ulmo about it he starts hinting that maybe I should never have stopped listening to him..."

In another corner of the garden, sitting on some low stone benches under a willow tree, were the four youngest sons of Fëanor and Celebrían, who, they had just concluded, was simoultaneously their half-first cousin once removed, their niece-in-law by adoption and their half-first cousin thrice removed by marriage. (Elves can get almost as bad as hobbits about genealogy.) Maglor and his wife came over to them for a moment to receive their congratulations, before continuing to circulate among the guests.

"It has certainly been a time of reconciliations," said Celebrían thoughtfully as she watched them stroll away hand in hand.

"Yes," said Amras. "Mother and Father, Makalaurë and his wife - aren't you two going to talk to yours as well?" He looked at his older brothers.

"No," said Curufin shortly.

"I tried to," said Caranthir.

"So how did it go?" said Amrod.

"Well," said Caranthir, "remember that vase Mother gave us for a wedding present? She brought it out and threw it on the ground and crushed it in front of my feet. And then she jumped on it."

"Oh," said Celebrían. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"No, no, that's a good sign," said Caranthir. "If she really had been furious at me, she would have broken it over my head."

Amrod shook his head.

"I knew there was a reason I didn't get married," he said.

"You know, we Fëanorians seem to be unlucky with our wives," said Curufin, and seeing everybody looking at him as if expecting further explanations, he cryptically added, "Elenwë and Eldalotë went."

"Yes, but their husbands had not sworn any unbreakable oaths," said Celebrían.

"What on earth does that have to do with anything?" said Curufin.

"You aren't supposed to call on Eru as a witness except in marriage oaths," said Celebrían. "I think they saw it as a personal insult."

There was a short silence. Then Curufin said, with a voice that was slightly more quiet than usual, "I never thought of that."

The disembodied narrative continued to float through the moonlit garden, here and there picking up snippets of the many conversations that were going on - Míriel asking queen Eärwen what methods the Teleri used to construct sails; Celebrimbor managing to persuade Gandalf to show Narya to Fëanor, who promptly declared it his favourite out of the Three; Gil-galad and Círdan reminiscing about their life in the Havens - until its attention was caught by the sound of voices raised in anger.

"...seemed to be enjoying yourself among those empty-headed blondes; were you planning on kidnapping any of them?"

"...if the Sindar are allowed to marry our princesses without asking for permission, I don't see why I shouldn't treat them the same way!"

It was, of course, Celegorm and Aredhel, shouting at each other as if they were standing on different sides of Helcaraxë, although in truth only a few feet separated them.

"Is that really how you think? No wonder Huan abandoned you; I would have done the same in his stead!"

"I rather think you did, didn't you?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Aredhel stamped her foot, which wasn't as impressive as it should have been, since the soft grass stopped any sound from being produced.

"You know exactly what I mean! You went and married that light-hating nutcase, didn't you?"

"You could have had the decency to be at home when I came to visit you..."

"You could have bothered to advertise you were coming!" shouted Celegorm, his normally beautiful face now twisted into an angry grimace. "How was I supposed to know you would visit when you had disappeared years ago! And instead of waiting for me to come back you go and marry the first dark elf you encounter; serves you right that he turned out to be a murderous lunatic!"

"How _dare_ you?" Aredhel looked positively dangerous. "How dare you accuse me of abandoning you? You left me on the other side of the Grinding Ice, I'll have you remember!"

"Well, it's not as if we were engaged! If you had accepted my proposal..."

"I happened to be enjoying my freedom!"

"Oh, but you were perfectly happy to live as a prisoner in that miserable hole your snake of a husband called his home!"

The two cousins stood still for a moment, perfectly mirroring each other's positions: feet slightly apart, clenched fists pointing downwards, chests heaving with furious breaths. They were staring at one another with looks that could have fried eggs.

"Let's go to the Valar and ask for permission to get married," said Aredhel, her voice still vibrating with anger.

"Right!" said Celegorm.

* * *

><p>"You do realize," said Manwë, "that by choosing to end your marriage, you will doom your husband to remain in the Halls of Mandos until the end of time?"<p>

Aredhel seemed to hesitate slightly. The Valar, seated in a half-circle in front of the two elves, looked down on her in silence.

"Come _on_," said Celegorm. "He killed you. He tried to kill your son."

Aredhel raised her gaze and looked defiantly at the Lord of Arda.

"Yes," she said. "And I still wish to do it."

"Don't you dare tell us that it can't be done," said Celegorm, with a menacing look at Námo, who ignored him and turned to Aredhel.

"Your husband has forfeited his rights to you," he said. "If you remain firm in your intention..."

"I do," said Aredhel.

"...then I declare your previous marriage undone."

"Then I am free to marry Tyelkormo?" said Aredhel.

Some uncomfortable looks were exchanged by the Valar.

"It is not habitual among the Eldar to marry first cousins," said Nessa.

"We're only half-cousins!" said Celegorm.

"There is no law against it," said Aulë, "but..."

"Great," said Aredhel, and grabbed Celegorm's hand. "We're married."

"We are?" said Celegorm, all traces of anger in his expression replaced by perplexion.

"Yes," said Aredhel, pulling at his arm. "Come on, Tyelko."

"There is usually a ceremony..." said Manwë, "that is to say... it is traditional that..."

"If you think I am going to waste time arguing with my family about this you are a bigger fool than Saruman!" said Aredhel. "Let's _go, _Tyelkormo!"

The stunned silence that followed the departure of the two elves was broken by the low, fruity laugh of Yavanna.

"One would think that girl was descended from Míriel and not Indis," she said, "as headstrong as she is."

Manwë sighed.

"I must say I wonder if that was right," he said. "A marriage is a serious affair, not something to rush into like that."

"They have been thinking about it for ages, beloved," said Varda. "They will be fine."

"As long as they stay away from me," said Estë. "All that screaming has given me a headache."


	23. War of Wrath

**Chapter 22: War of Wrath**

_In which the spotlight is stolen and the world is saved by a bunch of characters who, in the author's not-so-humble opinion, should have gotten more screen time in the books._

* * *

><p>The day after Maglor's wedding, Morgoth attacked.<p>

"Of course," said Maedhros, "we should have expected this. My Easterlings -"

"- may their bones rot in the dark earth until the end of time -" said Caranthir.

"No, no, mine were the good ones," said Maedhros. "Anyway, they said it was a tried and tested method among them to attack the morning after a wedding party, when everyone was hungover. I had to explain to them that I did not think Moringotto was interested in marriage, except possibly to Lúthien, and it was already too late for that."

The reports of the approaching army had reached Valinor in time to prepare the defence. The princes of the Noldor were assemblied; Finarfin and Fingolfin with their sons, and many others whose wisdom or valiance earned them a place in the council, as well as Fëanor and all but one of his sons. Strangely enough the missing one wasn't Maglor (who seemed to see the upcoming battle as a personal insult specifically designed to destroy his happiness), but Celegorm. When he finally did appear it came as a bit of a shock to most people - or, rather, the giant dog that followed in his footsteps did.

"Huan?" said Finrod.

Celegorm nodded happily.

"I thought he had abandoned you," said Curufin.

"Well, he's decided to come back," said Celegorm. "And we're never going to let a girl get between us again, are we, Huan?"

The giant dog looked at his old master with faithfulness shining out of his big round eyes.

"But he died," said Amrod.

"Wedding present from Oromë," said Celegorm.

"_Wedding present_?" said Maedhros.

Celegorm opened his mouth to explain, only to be interrupted by a wild-eyed Aredhel storming in, stamping her foot and demanding what on earth he meant by leaving her behind like that, abandoning her on the morning after their wedding?

"We have a battle to fight, Irissë," said Celegorm, not unkindly.

"Well, so do I!" said Aredhel. "You do realize I'm coming with you, I hope?"

"What? Absolutely not!"

"I am," said Aredhel angrily. "You cannot stop me!"

"It's too dangerous," said Celegorm. "I am not going to let you get yourself killed, now that I finally have you."

"I've faced danger before, I'll have you know -"

"Crossing some dangerous terrain by yourself is hardly the same as facing the hosts of the Enemy in battle!"

"It wasn't just 'some dangerous terrain', you fool," said Aredhel. "It was Nan Dungortheb. As in the place Beren refused to ever talk about after he had crossed it."

"I forbid you to fight," said Celegorm.

"I am not going to take orders from you, Tyelko; I am your wife and not your servant!"

In the background, Turgon began to laugh.

* * *

><p>The Noldor of Tirion were not the only ones preparing for battle. The Teleri were mustering, and the Eressëans; the Vanyar were picking up weapons that had been lying unused and forgotten since the War of Wrath. The Valar themselves (rather unwillingly except in the case of Tulkas) were getting ready to fight. All of Valinor seemed to be moving - except a small group of figures in the far west, near the shore of the endless ocean beyond the world. They were not moving; they were waiting.<p>

There were six of them altogether; they wore grey cloaks that shimmered strangely in the sunlight, as if they were woven by shadows. All but one of them had pulled up their hoods so that their faces could not be seen; the remaining one was a woman, a tall and beautiful woman with hair of gold. She seemed to be the leader.

At last what they had been waiting for appeared; another group of elves, two women and two men. But judging by the look on the golden-haired woman's face, one of them had not been expected. Her eyes were fixed on the fourth member of the group, a tall and grim-looking warrior; she looked at him as if she expected him to disappear at any moment, and wanted to burn his image into her memory as clear as she could before he went. And then when she finally realized he truly was there, that he was no dream, but flesh and blood, she smiled; she still did not take her eyes of him, but now she was drinking his appearance slowly, enjoying every slurp, without the frenzied desperation of her first looks.

"Brother," she said. "This is most unexpected, and a thousand times more welcome."

But there was only the faintest reflection of her expression on her brother's face, and when he answered her his voice was tired.

"I only came because _someone,_" he threw a bitter glance at his male companion, "claimed it was unfair that he should be forced to come back to life, when there were others in the Halls of Mandos with the same reason for remaining there."

"Perhaps you should explain the plan, Galadriel?" said one of the female newcomers, a mild-looking elf-maiden.

"Oh - yes, certainly," said Galadriel, brought back to earth. "Yes. We shall have to split into three groups. Nellas and Mithrellas, you must accompany Daeron; Mithrandir will go with you as well. Míriel, give them their cloaks."

The shortest of the cloaked figures stepped forward; her hood fell back and revealed a pale face with fine-pencilled features. She handed out three cloaks, made of the same mist-like material as the one she was wearing.

"You know your task," said Galadriel. Mithrellas nodded.

"Beleg will be coming with me," continued Galadriel, "as well as..." She hesitated. "Míriel, is there any way I can persuade you to stay behind and give your cloak to Aegnor instead?"

"No," said Míriel, "but..."

"What exactly are you going to do?" said Aegnor.

"Sneak into Morgoth's fortress," said Galadriel.

Aegnor looked at the group around him.

"Far be it from me to question your wisdom," he said, "but this is a rather strange group of people that sort of mission."

"I have my reasons," said Galadriel. "Although in Míriel's case, the reason was that I could not talk her into staying. Míriel, please..."

"As I was trying to say," said Míriel calmly, "I did make an extra cloak. For all eventualities."

Galadriel looked relieved.

"Then you, Beleg and Aegnor will come with me," she said. "If Aegnor is willing to help us, of course."

Her brother nodded solemnly.

"Good," said Galadriel. "And that leaves Vána and Nessa for the third group."

"Listen," said Beleg skeptically, "I think I have understood why you are sending Nessa, but... well, Vána... isn't she the goddess of _flowers? _What exactly can she do?"

"Without thinking too much," said Nellas, "I could name ten flowers that will kill you instantly, and another ten that will have you writhing in pain for hours before killing you."

Beleg sighed.

"Point taken," he said.

* * *

><p>North of the marching armies, north of the gleaming swords, north of the drawn bowstrings, that was where Morgoth was hiding. He did not have a mighty fortress anymore; no Utumno, no Angband, merely a hideout more fit for a local robber chieftain than for a mighty lord. But even so it was well-guarded; he had slaves in plenty to defend it, and sneaking in unseen would be next to impossible.<p>

However, the two goddesses who were approaching his hiding-hole did not seem to have the slightest intention of avoiding to be seen. They simply marched up to the front door, knocked on it and demanded to be taken to Morgoth. It may seem like a ridiculously simple plan, but it actually worked - if any plan that ends with standing face-to-face with the personification of evil himself can be said to have worked.

The hall was dark and silent; the only light was the greedy glow in Morgoth's eyes, high above the black mass of tormented rock that was his throne. He towered over his visitors like a great wave about to crush down on the shore and drown the green lands beyond it. And the two beings in front of him - one with golden hair and one with dark - looked so fragile, so young and soft and breakable, standing before that mountain of stone and iron and cold-hearted cruelty.

It was Vána who spoke first.

"Greetings, Melkor," she said. "Though it grieves me to see you determined to fight us once more, that is not why we have come. We are here on a different business entirely. Can we lay aside our differences for a while, and speak to each other as friends?"

With a voice that made the rock tremble though it was but a whisper, Morgoth answered her.

"Speak."

"Nessa and I have had a small disagreement," said Vána. "She claims that she is the best dancer the world has ever seen, but I think that Lúthien was her equal, if not her superior. However, since neither of us have actually seen Lúthien dance, we could not prove our statements. And then I came to think of you." She smiled, a happy little smile that was as malplaced in that doom-laden hall as a flying pink elephant on a funeral. "You have seen Lúthien, and witnessed her dancing. If you would let Nessa dance before you, and afterwards tell us who was the best, we could settle this matter. I would be most grateful. Please?"

If it had been anyone else, it would never have worked. But Vána looked so innocent, so trusting; there was no trace of guile in her face. Those begging eyes could not be lying. They would not even understand the concept of lying. Of course she would have come up with such a ridiculous idea, marching up to the lord of all evil and asking him to settle a dispute between her and her best friend; she could not comprehend evil, her heart was too pure and too good. And her innocence would be her undoing, but first... let the charade go on a little longer. Morgoth nodded.

Nessa threw back her hair and started to dance.

She twirled among the shadows like a ray of moonlight, her white arms glittering and her dark hair flying behind her. A slender, ethereal figure whirling over the cold stone floor, the soft fall of her feet marking a rhythm that was as once simple and complicated, like the changing of seasons and the movement of the stars.

And then there was music in the cave. It was impossible to tell when it had begun; it was as though it had always been there, if only you had listened carefully. It started out quiet as a whisper and then grew stronger, until it filled out the dark hall completely. The tones fell lightly like raindrops, trickling into the ears of those who listened and finding their way to their hearts, every note hitting exactly the right place.

It spoke of a forest dreaming under a sky of black velvet strewn with stars. It spoke of glades covered in soft moss, where little feet had danced until they grew weary. It spoke of going back home to rest; of lying down to slumber to the song of the nightingales and the linden-leaves, the whispers of the wind and the lullaby of the river.

You are home, it said. You can rest now. There is nothing that needs to be done that cannot be done in the morning. Sleep, my child; nothing evil can touch you while I am here. You are safe. You are home.

And slowly, like an ancient tree being cut down, Morgoth fell forward onto the floor.


	24. Final Chapter

**Chapter 23: Final Chapter**

_In which the author for the first time in her life feels happy that there aren't more songs on Nightfall in Middle Earth, since that means that this story must end here, and congratulates herself on still being alive._

* * *

><p>Nessa slowed down and finally stopped dancing entirely. Four grey-cloaked elves emerged from the shadows and rushed towards the fallen figure on the floor. One of them took out a rope from somewhere under his garment, and they hurried to bind Morgoth with it. Not until the last knot was securely fastened did they stop to take the wool out of their ears.<p>

"Well done," said Galadriel. She took out a small glass globe from some hidden pocket and held it to her mouth. When she breathed on it, it started to shine with a bright silver light. "Mithrandir, where are you?"

"Here," said a voice from the darkest corner of the room. The wizard appeared along with Nellas and Mithrellas, supporting Daeron between them. There were tears flowing down Daeron's cheeks, and he held a flute in his limp hand.

"How is he?" said Galadriel.

"Not too bad," said Nellas. "I'll give him something to sleep on when we get out of here."

"I wrote that for Lúthien," said Daeron quietly. "I..."

"Hush," said Mithrellas. "You've done all anyone could ask for. Soon you can rest. Only a few steps more. That's it."

"Are you sure that rope will hold when he wakes up?" said Aegnor. "It looks rather thin to me."

"It will hold," said Míriel calmly.

"What is it made of?" said Gandalf.

"The strongest things I know," said Míriel.

"Noldorin stubbornness when it comes to keeping their crafting methods secret?" said Beleg.

"Shouldn't we get out?" said Nessa.

"Right," said Vána. She skidded up to Morgoth and prodded him with her foot. "Roses are red, violets are blue, Laurelin is dead, and soon you'll be too."

"I don't think we can actually kill him, Vána," said Galadriel, "at least not without breaking the world in the process."

"Oh," said Vána. "Exiling him to the Void again, then?"

"Are we getting out of here or not?" said Aegnor.

* * *

><p>The troops that were fighting the hosts of Morgoth were rather surprised when the orcs suddenly broke formation and fled. But the explanation soon appeared in the shape of a group of grey-clad people approaching from the north, dragging the dark lord himself behind them.<p>

"Ah, Artanis," said Fëanor, who naturally had been fighting in the very front line. "I see everything went as planned. Hello, Mother."

Míriel nodded at her son.

"Yes, everything went fine," said Galadriel. "Now, if you excuse me, we need to dispose of this sad excuse for an evil overlord."

"And we really should take Daeron somewhere he can rest," said Nellas. "The gardens of Lórien, for preference."

"Are you Daeron?" said Caranthir to the sad figure leaning on her shoulder. "Your letters are ugly and your musical skills inferior."

"He just defeated Morgoth with a song," said Mithrellas.

Caranthir blinked.

"Well, his letters are still ugly," he said stiffly.

"Enough of your bickering," said Gandalf. "We have more important things to take care of. Where is Manwë?"

Since there did not seem to be much point in transporting Morgoth into Valmar only to have to drag him back again so he could be thrown into the Void, and more or less all the important people in Valinor already were on the battlefield anyway, an improvised council ended up being held on the grassy plain. Galadriel and her troop were of course the heroes of the day, but the courage of those who had fought in the conventional battle was not glossed over either. Fortunately the battle had been interrupted before too much blood had been spilled; but casualties there were, though most of the dead were orcs.

Fëanor was of course a vivid participant in the discussions. His middle sons, however, had taken the opportunity to quietly sneak away. This was not done without reason; one of the aforemented important people was Thingol, who had come out of his long rest in the gardens of Lórien just in time to join the battle. He had seemed very upset about Morgoth's alleged past intentions regarding his daughter, and Celegorm did not think Thingol had forgotten that he too had planned to marry Lúthien by force. And then there was that pesky oath they had sworn to kill Thingol and destroy his people. All in all, it was probably better to avoid a confrontation.

The field was full of people moving around aimlessly, not sure what to do now that their enemies had vanished. Celegorm, Curufin and Caranthir bumped into Erwen, bleeding from a small cut in the arm but otherwise unhurt, and together they sought their way to the outskirts of the plain, where they found a moss-covered fallen tree to sit on.

"So what do we do now?" said Erwen.

"Wait, I guess," said Celegorm. "They could be talking a while."

"But we need to destroy the author!" said Erwen. "We can't sit around here all day. This is the last chapter!"

"How can you know that?" said Caranthir. "You said she would have to keep writing until the end..."

"Yes, yes, I know," said Erwen, "but she has been naming the chapters after songs from a theme album by Blind Guardian, and there are no more song titles left after this one; in fact the story would have been over already if there hadn't been a bonus track included on the remasted version..."

She stopped talking when she saw the incredulous expressions of the elves.

"Look, I just know, okay?" she said. "It would take too long to explain. Trust me."

"Even if you are right," said Celegorm, stressing the word _if_ ever so slightly, "I don't see what we can do about it."

"Fëanáro must have come up with some way to reach her by now," said Erwen desperately. "We need to find everyone and tell them that we have to make our move right now. If you and Carnistir look for your brothers, I'll take Curufinwë and go and talk to your father -"

"No," said Curufin, snapping back from whatever thoughts he had been busying himself with.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" said Erwen.

"I have something to do," said Curufin. "It's important. You will have to take care of your author without me."

He rose abruptly and left them without explaining more.

"What is he _doing_?" said Erwen.

"I think," said Celegorm, "that there is a reasonable probability he is actally going to tell someone that, in hindsight, his actions may have been less than optimal." He sighed. "I never thought that would happen."

"But that's stupid!" said Erwen. "This is the last chapter! We can't waste words on that sort of thing, we need to get to the author quickly before the story ends."

"Excuse me?" said a young elf-maiden. She was slim and dark-haired, with a bow in her hand. "Are you by any chance Lauriel?"

"Yes," said Erwen warily.

"I thought so," said the girl, smiling. "Mother said you would be blonde, speaking strangely, and most likely holding a sword."

"I don't thpeak strangely," said Erwen. A moment later, when her brain had caught up, she said, "Oh. You're referring to..."

"...the Shibboless, yes," said the girl.

"Shibboleth," said Erwen. "It's shibboleth. Spelled with a thorn."

"If you say so," said the girl with a little shrug. "I never understood what all that was about anyway; I don't even think th is a particularly pleasant sound."

"Try Black Speech sometime," said Erwen, "Gh and z and guttural r... th is lovely by comparison. And quite apart from that, I would not have minded getting rid of th if we had changed it into a sound not already occurring in our language, but conflating th and s seems simply sloppy to me..." She shook her head. "Now, where was I before you distracted me? Oh, yes - are you my niece, and in that case, _what on earth are you doing on a battlefield? _Does your mother know you are here?"

"Of course," said Gaearlinn. "She's here too. We fought with the Teleri. Surely you remember that Mother has considerable skill with the bow?"

"Yes, she was always good at hunting," said Erwen. "Er. When you say with..."

"With the Teleri against Moringotto," said Gaearlinn, looking slightly shocked. "How could you think anything else?"

"I was just checking," said Erwen.

"Right," said Gaearlinn, somewhat mollified. "Well, the reason I wanted to talk to you was... will you come to my wedding?"

"You are getting married?" said Erwen. "To whom?"

"His name is Búro," said Gaearlinn. "Of the Teleri."

"I hope he's not someone I killed, then," said Erwen.

Gaearlinn stared at her.

"Sorry," said Erwen, having the good sense too look ashamed for once. "It was a joke. Of course I'll come to your wedding. If you still want me to."

"If you refrain from making tasteless jokes," said Gaearlinn coldly. "Excuse me, I think I should go and find my parents."

"Weddings!" said Erwen, when her niece was too far away to hear. "Of course! Because it's not a proper happy ending unless everybody and their dog is getting married!"

"You know, if it is so important not to use up the remaining words," said Caranthir, "I would stop talking if I were you. You must have wasted quite a lot of them with your complaining."

Erwen became silent.

"Speaking of dogs," said Celegorm, "where is Huan?"

In accordance with the best narrative traditions, this was the moment Huan chose to turn up. And he was not alone. A grey beast followed in his footsteps, a grim creature that was much bigger than any normal wolf could be.

"That is a warg!" said Erwen, backing away.

A strange light appeared in Celegorm's eyes.

"Will you look at that," he said. "What a magnificent beast."

"It's a _warg!_" said Erwen.

"Yes, we all heard you the first time," said Caranthir, drawing his sword.

"Moryo!" said Celegorm. "You mustn't hurt it!"

Huan growled and placed himself in front of the huge wolf.

"Have you lost your mind, Tyelko?" said Caranthir. "As Erwen so kindly pointed out, it's a warg."

"I promised Huan we would never get into a fight over a girl again," said Celegorm defiantly.

Caranthir's mouth fell open. He lowered his sword.

"A girl?" he said.

"Tyelko?" said a voice behind them. It was Aredhel. "I have been looking everywhere for you. I thought you would be with the other leaders. What are you doing here?"

"Avoiding Thingol," said Celegorm. "I don't know if you remember, but we aren't exactly on good terms with him."

But Aredhel did not seem to pay much attention to his words; she had caught sight of the warg. She looked at its ragged grey fur, and then at Huan's eyes filled with soppy delight, and then back at the wolf.

"Oh, Huan," she said with a little laugh, "I'm so happy for you!"

And she gave the warg a great big hug. Celegorm cried out and reached for his sword.

"Don't be silly, Tyelko!" said Aredhel. "She's not going to hurt you. She's a good girl. Aren't you a good girl? Yes, you are!" She scratched the creature behind the ears. It growled, though not in a threatening way, and then rolled over so she could rub its stomach.

Erwen laughed, in a borderline hysteric way.

"That's one problem less, then," said Celegorm. "Have they finished talking yet?"

"Almost, I think," said Aredhel, with her hands buried in the thick fur on the wolf's belly. "They were discussing what to do with the orcs when I left them."

"Leave them to kill each other?" said Caranthir.

"I think there was talk of giving Findaráto some kind of diplomatic mission," said Aredhel.

"Bad idea," said Celegorm, "he will probably end up helping one of them marry an elvish princess."

"Can you stop making witty remarks for a moment?" said Erwen. "We have to..." She glanced at Aredhel. "I mean, we can't stay here all day!"

"Yes, we should probably get back to Tirion," said Aredhel, getting back on her feet. "I'm sure Amarië will have some tea ready. Come on, let's go."

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing," mumbled Erwen to herself as she trailed after the other elves towards home. "You're throwing happy endings and reconciliations on me in the hope that I will get the hint and decide to forgive you." She paused for a moment and then added, in an even quieter voice, "I'm not saying it didn't work."


	25. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Nine tall figures were walking down the street. Their strange clothes, beautiful features and bloodstained swords might have attracted quite a lot of surprised stares, if the burning building some distance behind them hadn't been doing an excellent job of occupying everybody's attention. The shortest of them, the only woman in the company, was carrying something under her arm. She also appeared to have broken her nose.

"What did I tell you about keeping your mind on fighting, not on being witty?" said Caranthir.

"Yes, honestly," said Celegorm. "I mean, really, '_That_ is for Angband and _that _is for Helcaraxë and _that _is for not giving me an amazing singing voice'? Worst battle cry I've ever heard. Even 'Utúlie'n aurë, aiya Eldalië ar Atanatari, utúlie'n aurë' was better. Although personally I always preferred 'Gurth an Glamhoth'. Short and to the point."

"I guess I should hab seed id cobbing," said Erwen. "Dat was exadly how I would hab reacded if sobeode had punched be id de face."

"Was it absolutely necessary to set the house on fire?" said Amras, looking pained.

"You are thinking about this the wrong way," said Curufin. "The correct question is: was there any reason _not_ to set it on fire? And the answer is no."

With that calm smile on Curufin's face, it was completely impossible to tell if he was being sarcastic or not. His red-headed little brother muttered something about being surrounded by madmen and pyromaniacs.

"Why are you carrying that?" said Maglor, in an obvious attempt to change the subject, and pointed at the laptop under Erwen's arm.

"Well, I don't dow if I ab bound by ad oath by humad coudterpart has sword, but I'd rather dot take ady risks," said Erwen, and turning to Fëanor, she added, "Are you sure you cad find a way to ged idterdet id Valinor? I'b dot sure I badaged to explaid properly-"

"No, your explanation was woefully inadequate," said Fëanor, "but I figured out how it all works anyway. I will be able to establish a connection."

"Oh," said Erwen. "Well, dat's okay, den."

"One thing, though," said Maedhros. "If you ever write a story about me and Amlach again - or about me and any other man or elf or, Manwë forbid, a servant of the enemy..."

"Er," said Erwen, looking worried, "I foudd dis outlide for a tale about you..."

Maedhros groaned.

"It's dot a robance," said Erwen quickly. "Blease?"

"_Fine,_" said Maedhros. "Write your bloody stories."


End file.
